


Breaking the Window

by Useful_Oxymoron



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Depression, Extended Families, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Good fathers, Loneliness, Monstrous unicorn, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Soulmates, Time Travelling Lesbians, Traumatized Hermione, Wasps, Women Being Awesome, Young Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:40:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 91,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27299614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Useful_Oxymoron/pseuds/Useful_Oxymoron
Summary: When they find a magic pool in the Forbidden Forest, it kicks off an unlikely friendship for two lonely girls thirty years apart of each other. Hermione begins a desperate search to find a way to save her new friend from the fate she knows awaits her, all the while dealing with the severe repercussions of having lived through a war. It becomes the start of an unexpected adventure.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Comments: 510
Kudos: 1113
Collections: Time Travel Bellamione





	1. Finding the Window

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my new long-form Bellamione story and, well, this is going to be a big one. Updates will be every Saturday morning (European time) as per usual.
> 
> All usual warnings apply, as in this is a Bellamione story with depictions of girls being love and sexual content. However, this story also has some depictions of brutal violence, hence the archive warning above, which is basically meant for one specific future chapter. Said chapter will be marking in a beginning note.
> 
> Otherwise, know that Hermione is not in a good place mentally, which is something that persists throughout the entire story. Now I've known plenty of people with PTSD, but I have never experienced it myself. Grateful for that, obviously, but I have still tried to do my best to portray it as accurately as I could.
> 
> Without further ado, I hope you will enjoy the story.

Bellatrix Black grunted as she kicked against a small rock as hard as she could. It shot forward, skidding over the uneven ground of the Forbidden Forest, ticking as it collided against other rocks. Finally, it came to a halt right in front of her feet and she kicked it again for good measure, gleefully imagining it to be Rodolphus Lestrange's bloody, stupid, severed head.

The rock shot forward again, this time landing in the underbrush and no longer in the frustrated Bellatrix's path.

Rodolphus had been particularly insufferable ever since her betrothal to her had been agreed upon by both their families. Oh, the papers loved it, of course: it was all over the society pages. Of course, she herself hadn't had any say in this whatsoever. Bellatrix let out another frustrated shriek, looking for something to kick and finally taking it all out on a fallen log.

It wasn't fair.

She'd been offered an auror apprentice-ship after her graduation! She'd aced all her NEWTS to this date, to a point that even McGonagall had named her the Brightest Witch of her Age! She developed her own spells! She was the Slytherin team star chaser! Yet bitterness overcame her in light of the fact that all of those great achievements would mean absolutely nothing: Rodolphus had made it clear that he expected her to stay at home and pop out plenty of pretty pure-blood kiddies on a regular basis.

It made her angry. So very angry. Of course she understood her duty to pure-blood society and wizardkind: there needed to be pure-blood offspring and as a girl, she was expected to birth the next generation of pure-bloods. Fine.

But this was 1968! It was perfectly possible to have a family _and_ a career. Many witches already did so. This was a modern time, after all.

Unfortunately, her father agreed with Rodolphus: pure-blood procreation above everything else, he had said. Though it had pained him to have to disappoint his eldest daughter, the future of wizard-kind was more important than her happiness. Yes. Bellatrix was still bitter about it and would likely feel that way for the rest of her life.

Bellatrix let out another cry of frustration and gave the log a few more savage kicks, grunting with every impact. A sharp pain shot through her foot as her toe hit the log at an unfortunate angle.

Great, now her foot hurt. Could this day get any worse?

Bellatrix closed her eyes and let out a few deep sighs, forcing herself to calm down. She took in the silence of the Forbidden Forest in the dead of night, and found the place soothing. Certainly, she'd been told it was dangerous and off-limits, but that had never stopped her before. She knew all the ways to get in and out of Hogwarts undetected and did so often... stopping by the Hog's Head for some old-fashioned underage drinking or simply enjoying a few moments of freedom by taking a walk through the Forbidden Forest to enjoy a moment of solitude.

Solitude without the burden of expectations or politics. Just being on her own.

She stopped and sighed: sometimes she wished she could just talk to someone. She had allies and toadies, but no friends. No real friends at least. Nobody to confide in. No shoulder to cry on. There were Andie and Cissy, of course, but they wouldn't understand. They couldn't understand what fate was looming above their heads too.

So Bellatrix lost herself in her hobby: stories of the macabre, the frightening and the disgusting. Another thing she couldn't share with her sisters, since Andie had no taste for it and Cissy was one big scaredy cat who jumped at her own shadow.

Horror. Horror was a clown at your back door at midnight: the wrong thing at the wrong place at the wrong time. And here, surrounded by the darkness of the Forbidden Forest, she found a good atmosphere to read lovely short frightening tales... and write them.

Oh, she couldn't compare with the great authors of the macabre, even she was grounded enough for that, but she did get the feeling she was getting better at writing and spinning words to paper. Besides, it was very therapeutic.

She found a nice spot to sit down and produced a scroll and quill. Hm, what to write today? What violent and successful death would the male protagonist of the story, a _gormless-bloke-who-was-in-no-way-a-representation-of-Rodolphus-Lestrange-no-really-how-could-anything-think-that?-It's-absolutely-not-true-whatsoever-and-anyone-who'd-suggest-so-is-a-rotten-liar_ , suffer through today? Hm, perhaps a wendigo? Or a skinwalker? Skinwalkers were always good. Or perhaps a cat-and-mouse-game with a vampire or just a good old simple gory cave bear mauling.

Wouldn't it be funny if a cave bear would maul Rodolphus' todger off so father would have to find another marriage candidate for her? She briefly wondered if it would be possible to rent a cave bear from somewhere. A really big one with big claws.

She's just put her quill to the paper to proclaim that 'it was a dark and stormy night' when something caught her eye in the distance. Truth be told, she ended up a bit deeper in the Forbidden Forest than she was used, so she didn't know the terrain all that well here. She spotted an odd glow in the distance, bright and blue.

Curious. That kind of glow could only be produced by the fields of glowcaps which were located in this part of the forest, but she had just passed the largest one she knew of at least. This warranted further investigation.

Carefully, she pushed herself through the underbrush and found herself standing in a small clearing. In the center of a clearing stood what seemed to be a large and gnarly dead and petrified tree with massive roots. Located in the space between two of the largest roots was a small pool of blue glowing water.

Being a pure-blood witch, she could feel the sheer power tingling in the air. That pool she was looking at was radiating pure concentrated magic from its still waters. The entire forest had seemingly gone silent around her. Bellatrix closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of the powerful waves of magic passing through her body.

Bellatrix was very much aware that this setup was starting to look a lot like one of the scenarios of one of her favourite horror stories... which usually never ended well. Still, curiously overcame any sense of self-preservation. The magic here: it was so strong that it simply pulled her towards it.

Carefully, she took a look into the pool. At first glance, it seemed like a normal small and still pond, but when she took a closer look something was off.

The pool was smooth as a mirror even though there was a slight breeze on the air. But the reflection of the forest around her was different: in the surface of the pool, she could see a fallen tree, snapped in half by what looked to be a lightning strike. When she looked behind her, she could see the same tree standing proud and fierce. She could spot more differences, but one thing was so glaring yet so subtle that she didn't notice at first: she couldn't see her own reflection.

She held out her hand above the pool and... nothing. Just as she was contemplating picking up a stone and dropping it into the water to see what would happen, she heard someone approach. It was the tell-tale sounds of twigs snapping underneath feet. Instinctively, she turned to look but saw no one. Until she realized that the sounds were coming not from the forest, but from the pool itself.

Exciting!

* * *

Hermione Granger held on to her basket as she made her way through the Forbidden Forest. It had taken some time for her to get the permission needed to exit the castle at night so she could look for the glowcaps she needed for an experiment in potioneering she'd been working on, but so far she found the pickings slim. This forced her to go a bit deeper into the forest than she was comfortable with.

She had no idea why Filch was being so difficult, really. She had fought in a war, after all. If she should stand up to Voldemort and his ilk, there was little in the Forbidden Forest which could be a threat to her.

Since glowcaps, a magical mushroom, only came out at night, she'd have to traverse the darkness of the forest. Still, she found the quiet to be soothing.

And it wasn't as if she got much sleep these days anyway.

When the dust settled and the war ended, she was left to deal with the consequences. What she hadn't expected, however, was to deal with the trauma and nightmares. Honestly, she'd been doing fine until she actually had the time and luxury to stop and think about all the bad things which had happened to her the past few years. All the lies, the violence, the war, the pain. She wondered how Harry was dealing with it all.

Adamant to finish her education, she had returned to Hogwarts to do her seventh year. Unfortunately, she was one of the only ones from her year to do so. Harry and Ron went straight to the auror corps, most of her friends either elected not to return at all or simply skipped a year to make sense of what had happened in her life. Luna, for example, had decided to take a year off Hogwarts to travel Europe with her father. So had many others.

She broke up with Ron, of course, so that was a thing. Honestly, they were never a good fit and she didn't know which one of them had been more relieved when they finally decided to break it off. Hermione wouldn't be welcome at the Weasley household for a bit until things would cool down, but at least she and Ron were still good friends.

Still, this left her without her friends to talk to. And to stave off her own trauma and nightmares, she threw herself one her academic pursuits with gusto. If she could only keep busy enough, she could push all her worries and fears to the background where they belonged. Focus on her work meant less focus on her... her...

… her soul-crushing loneliness.

Hermione stopped in her tracks, feeling involuntary tears well up again. She had mood-swings like this more and more often. The tears came and she let them flow, her body shaking. She didn't even quite know just why she was crying, even.

Hermione wiped her tears away with her sleeve. Perhaps her mum had been right: perhaps she should see a therapist. Therapy and mental healthcare had seen a bit of a surge in the wizarding world after the end of the second wizarding war, to a point where Hogwarts was considering putting a therapist on staff. Perhaps she should talk to McGonagall about finding a good therapist who was in the know about the wizarding world.

She couldn't go on like this. That was for sure. Hermione closed her eyes and remembered her breathing exercises.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Glowcaps. Focus on the glowcaps. Forget the rest.

Hermione thus forced herself to focus and search for more mushrooms, pushing anything else aside like she always did. When she spotted a bright blue glow in the distance, she felt elated for a moment, thinking she had hit the jackpot. She rushed forward and pushed through the underbrush... only to be surprised not to see a single glowcap in the clearing. Disappointed, but still curious, she noticed she had arrived in a clearing where a large petrified tree stood in the middle and nestled between its root was a blue glowing pool which was still as a graveyard.

The magic in the air was… astounding. Though she had not grown up around magic like some others, the amount of energy in the air was nothing short of overwhelming. The tips of her fingers started to tingle from the power. Hell, magical currents like this would probably have her hair stand on end from static discharge.

Hermione approached carefully, twigs snapping underneath her feet. She put down her basket on one of the larger roots to peer into the pond.

Immediately, she was given the fright of her life: in that pool she saw a face she had seen in every single one of her nightmares. Bellatrix Lestrange: the woman whom had tortured and tried to murder her. The very representation of everything what was wrong in this world. A woman whom she known was dead and, to her shame, had been happy to see die, was now looking back at her with those dark eyes of hers.

Hermione let out a brief cry, taking a step backwards only to trip over a branch and full straight on her bum. She quickly scrambled away from the pool, pressing her back against the tree and being too afraid to move for a moment.

"I saw you," sounded from the pool.

That voice.

_Her_ voice.

This couldn't be. This wasn't happening. _It can't be her!_

Her heart was pounding in her chest like a jackhammer and had started to hyperventilate. Hermione fought to keep her breathing under control, but fear had taken over. She remembered her breathing exercises.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Unfortunately, breathing exercises where utterly useless when one was panting like a dog.

"I can still hear you," sounded her voice. "I know you're there."

This was not happening. This _could_ not be happening. She was dead. Bellatrix Lestrange was _dead_!

"Come out," sounded the voice, rather friendly even. Hah. Friendly?

Hermione remained silent for as much as she could while hyperventilating. God, she felt like she was going to faint.

"I promise I won't bite."

By now, Hermione had calmed down slightly, but enough to actually listen to the voice. The voice was unmistakably Bellatrix, but she sounded… younger. Livelier. There was a touch of Mancunian dialect on her voice, even. It sounded nothing like the screeching voice of her nightmares.

"Are you going to keep hiding all night?" sounded the voice, now with a touch of irritation. "I promise you I'm dead sound, on my honour as the eldest daughter of the House of Black."

Hearing that was enough for Hermione. In that moment, she was back on the cold floor of Malfoy Manor, a cruel hand pushing her head to the stone while a cruel taunting voice alternated between hissing whispers and ear-piercing shrieks. Hermione hissed and grasped her fore-arm: she still suffered from the cursed wound carved in her skin and stress often caused it to reopen. Right now, the jumper underneath her coat was sticking to her skin because of the blood.

This was a nightmare. A horrid nightmare. Hermione steeled herself and prepared to make a run for the treeline.

"Talk with me," sounded from the pool. "Please?"

That gave Hermione pause, even against her better judgment. That sounded… sad. Pleading, even.

Human.

Though her heart still pounded in her chest, Hermione turned her head to the pool. From her vantage point, she could only see the glowing surface. This pool. This place. That voice. All these things shouldn't be here and yet they were.

Curiosity started to override fear somewhat. Hermione decided she would at least investigate this mystery, but keep a healthy distance for now. She steeled herself and faced her fears

The young witch took a few breaths and slowly turned to face the pool again. Nervous as she was, she fought to keep herself under control. The face in the pool was undoubtedly Bellatrix Lestrange, but now that she was getting a better look, she was different. Her cheeks were fuller, her curly dark hair was more voluminous, definitely more well-kept and lacked any sense of grey. She had thicker eyebrows and no bags under her heavy-lidded eyes. She still had her strong jaw and those intense dark eyes of hers. This was Bellatrix, but... younger. If she'd have to hazard a guess, she was around her own age, perhaps a little younger even. What struck her were two things: one, what an astonishingly beautiful young woman Bellatrix was and two, how that smile on her face looked warm, inviting and so utterly alien to her.

"Hi there. Finally decided to show yourself, hm?" spoke Bellatrix. She sounded friendly enough, but that only made Hermione even more wary.

"Uhm... hello?" Hermione returned softly.

"You're not in this clearing with me," Bellatrix stated matter-of-factly.

"I... I don't think so, no," Hermione said, looking around. Then, she noticed. "The reflection in the water. It's... it's different."

"I know!" replied the young Bellatrix. "Do you feel the magic coming from the pool? It's well good, isn't it?!"

Hermione nodded. She had, in fact, noticed. "It's... it's making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end."

"I've never seen or felt anything like this before," said Bellatrix. "You?"

"No," Hermione shook her head. "I can honestly say that I haven't."

Bellatrix frowned for a moment. "Oh, how rude of me. I have yet to introduce myself! Bellatrix Black, of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. Pleased to meet you."

Well, at least this iteration of Bellatrix was polite, if a little prideful… and enthusiastic.

"Hermione Granger." Hermione returned, almost automatically. "Of, well, the Completely Unimportant and Nondescript House of Granger."

That made the girl in the pool laugh. "I've never heard of your family, but then again I don't pay much attention of high society gatherings. That's more my maman's cup of tea. And Cissy's, I suppose," Bellatrix responded.

Hermione didn't bother to correct her, not sure how the younger Bellatrix would react. So far, she seemed surprisingly friendly enough. "What are you doing out here in the dead of night?"

Bellatrix smirked and crossed her arms. "I could ask the same about you."

"I was out here looking for glowcaps. Nothing more, nothing less," said Hermione, immediately on the defensive.

"Glowcaps?" Bellatrix replied. "Oh, you're quite close. They tend to grow in darker groves. You should find a big field of them about fifty yards in that direction." Indeed, Hermione followed her gaze to the direction Bellatrix was pointing out and already saw the bluish glow in the distance. "As for what I'm doing out at night? Well... I was just... I wanted to get away from it all for a bit. Not to think about anything and just enjoy some quiet."

"I think I understand that," Hermione gave the girl a half-smile.

"And then I found this pool. And you," said Bellatrix. "Wait, I have an idea."

From her vantage-point, Hermione could see that Bellatrix saw lowering her arm into the pool. Her hand slipped into the water ever so slowly. "Hermione?" she asked. "Is my hand coming out of the pool on your end?"

"No," replied Hermione. "And really, is it wise to stick your hand in an obviously strong magical pool while you have no idea what it actually does or what it is?"

Bellatrix shrugged. "Who can tell?" she said. "Come on, stick your hand in the pool. See if you can feel my fingers in the water."

"What?!" Hermione blinked. "No! That could be dangerous!"

"Oh come on," Bellatrix made a face. "Yellow chicken. Stick your hand in there."

Hermione shook her head. "This goes against every guideline about safe magical experimentation, as is described in Professor Penrose's guidebook on..."

Bellatrix sighed through her nose. "Right. Yellow chicken it is, then."

The young witch bristled: she would not be made fun of, certainly not by the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange... or Black... or whatever. "Fine!" she sighed and carefully let her hand slip in the pool. So far, the only thing she could feel was water and nothing else. She felt around and the shallow pool.

"Anything?" Bellatrix asked.

"Just roots and mud," replied Hermione. "You?"

"Same," said Bellatrix. "I guess the magic is just on the pool's surface. We are in the same place, that's for certain. But things are different. Take that tree for example. The fallen one behind you? That tree is upright behind me. This is amazing. Both here and yet we're both not."

Hermione nodded. Indeed, this was amazing. And had the person on the other side of the pool had been anyone else than Bellatrix Black, she would have been endlessly more excited. Still, this Bellatrix seemed so... so innocent and wide-eyed, lacking any of the fanatical zeal or the madness her older self had shown.

Or perhaps she was simply hiding it well.

Something was happening, however. The light around the pool was faded slightly and the image in the pool was shimmered.

"Hermione?" asked Bellatrix. "What's happening?"

The image was fading further and further until the girl in the pool was becoming harder to see and to hear. In a way, that was a blessed relief, as part of her was happy to see the girl fade away. However, before she faded fully, there was a single question. It was asked with a soft and almost wistful tone, in a way that made Hermione more curious than afraid.

"Hermione?" Bellatrix asked softly. "W-will you be back tomorrow night?"


	2. Unbreakable Bond

It was around midnight when Hermione arrived at the pool in the clearing, yet she found it to be a perfectly normal pond. There was not an iota of magic in the air like she had felt emanating from the pool the previous night, nor was there any kind of glow. For any passing individual, this would just seem like nothing more than a regular pool of water. Naturally, she waved her wand over to cast a few detection spells but came up with absolutely nothing.

Curious. Even if the magic had gone inactive, there should be residual traces.

Hermione sat down on one of the petrified branches to think. Had she just imagined it? She hadn't been sleeping well, after all, and the nightmares hadn't been kind of her.

It wasn't encouraging to think about, really. If she had all imagined it, that would mean she had some serious psychological issues. And, truth be told, what had happened was so outlandish that she had spent a lot of hours lying awake in her bed wondering if her sanity had slipped so far that she had started seeing people who weren't there.

She had debated with herself if she should have returned at all. If it had been all in her mind, there was no point. But if this was the real Bellatrix somehow, would she with messing with the time-line simply by talking to her? Was that how time even worked?

Temporal shenanigans aside, she asked herself if she really even want to talk to Bellatrix at all. Hermione had suffered greatly at the hand of the evil witch, who now regularly featured in her nightmares. The scar on her arm still hurt sometimes, the old wound opening up and dripping blood down her sleeve at inopportune moments. Did she really want to talk to the person who did that to her? Even if she was younger and seemingly more friendly?

Still, in the end, curiosity had won out. She was curious if what she had seen was real or not. If it wasn't, that would be a signal for her to seek more professional help. If it was real, well, then she'd have an interesting mystery on her hands. Despite Bellatrix being involved, she still preferred the latter over the former.

Hermione decided to wait besides the pool, wrapping her legs in a blanket and reading a book. She found it rather soothing and lost herself in the text. When she checked her watch, it was almost three in the morning.

Hermione let out a sigh. What was she doing? She'd been sat here in the dead of night next to a still pond in the middle of a dangerous forest for almost three hours now. The fact alone didn't speak wonders for her mental state.

"You're losing your mind, Hermione," the young witch sighed to herself and snapped her book shut. "Time to go back to Hogwarts, crawl into bed and forget that all this nonsense ever happened."

She was about to get up when she felt a gust of magic in the air and found the previously still pool radiating light and magic. Instantly, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up now that the air was suddenly charged with magic. Hermione turned her head towards the pool and found the smiling face of Bellatrix staring back at her.

"Hermione! You came back!" exclaimed Bellatrix, excitement on her voice. It almost seemed as if she hadn't been expecting that.

"Good evening, Bellatrix," greeted Hermione, sounding far more apprehensive than she would have liked.

"Don't you mean 'good morning'?" Bellatrix raised an eyebrow.

That was a good point. What time was it? The young witch checked her watch and saw that it was deep within the night. "Hm. Exactly three in the morning," she muttered, almost suppressing a yawn.

"Yeah, same here," replied Bellatrix. "Curious."

"Three AM," said Hermione, rubbing her chin. "The Witching Hour."

"That is no coincidence," Bellatrix nodded.

The Witching Hour, the time of day when all magic was at its strongest, and when supernatural events were more likely to occur. This was a well-known fact within the wizarding community and the very reason who so much magical experimentation took place in the dead of night.

"Did you happen to catch the time yesterday when the pool's magic abruptly cut out?" said Bellatrix. "I'm willing to bet it was four in the morning."

Hermione nodded. "I did not," she replied. "But we're likely to find out today. Have you been waiting long?"

Bellatrix smiled briefly. "Since about seven in the evening, right after dinner."

This made Hermione blink. She herself had arrived at midnight, and thought that had been long while Bellatrix had been sitting besides the pool for almost eight hours straight. "Wait," she said. "You've been here since early evening?"

"Hm," Bellatrix nodded. "I don't need much sleep, I got all my homework done and have been working on a new story so it's not time wasted. You?"

"Since midnight," replied Hermione, settling her back against the tree after propping her blanket between herself and the bark and getting comfortable. "Though if it's really only the Witching Hour when the pool is active, we could plan out chats better."

A brief smile crossed Bellatrix's young features. "So you'd like to chat more?"

Hermione bit her lip. Did she really? She supposed she did, for now at least. "This whole situation is fascinating, isn't it?" she responded, and that was definitely not a lie.

"I know!" replied Bellatrix. "I looked for you, you know? I've spent some time at the library looking through old yearbooks and photographs. The only reference to the Grangers I found were the Dagworth-Grangers from Kent. Not members of the Sacred 28, but a prestigious magical line nonetheless. Founders of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. That's a lot to live up to, Hermione. You must be so proud."

It was rather disturbing to hear that Bellatrix had been looking for her and into her personal history. Likely, there was actually a connection between her family and the Dagworth-Grangers, but she figured it was probably a good idea not to correct her on this assumed connection. "Well," said Hermione. "I try to be my own woman as much as possible. Sometimes, you have to make a name of your own."

"I can certainly respect that," replied Bellatrix through the pool. "But hear me out, right? I have a theory. The design of your uniform, it's different. Not like any design I've seen or managed to track down into the school archives. And then there's the matter of the dead tree behind you, while the same tree behind me is standing proud and fierce. It might be the same time, but I'm guessing it's not the same year. I'm guessing you are in the future. Well, for you it's the present, but from my perspective, I mean. So, what year is it on your end?"

Hermione bit her lip. She supposed that Bellatrix was smart enough to figure it out eventually. Should she say it? Or shouldn't she? There was really no reason to lie, she supposed. "1998," she responded, only to almost immediately regret saying it.

A gasp came from Bellatrix. "Wicked! No wonder I didn't recognize the name of your house or that I never saw you at Hogwarts! It's 1968 here. That's a difference of thirty years! That's amazing! What's the date?"

"The 30th of September."

Bellatrix grinned. "Same here."

That did make Hermione think, though. "Three AM? Thirty years? On the 30th day of the ninth month? I don't think that's a coincidence either."

"I doubt it is. My grand-père was a magic researcher and unspeakable for the French ministry before my mother's family came over to the United Kingdom," Bellatrix rubbed her chin. "When he was still alive, he told me stories that there were inherent magical traits to the number three and its multiples, like thirty, six, nine, or three-hundred. The reason why is not really understood, but grand-père devoted a lot of his life to the study of magic in numerology. He believed it was related to the Pareto principle, you know, where 80 percent of effects come from 20 percent of the causes? It's one of those mathematical rules you find everywhere in the universe."

"It is an intriguing mystery," said Hermione. And it was. What was this pool? Where had it come from? Why was it only active during the Witching Hour? How long had it been here? How long _would_ it be here? She had to admit that, at an intellectual level, her curiosity had been more than piqued. "After all that had happened the past year, I'm all up for a more intellectual challenge."

Bellatrix fell silent for a moment, which caused Hermione to start to look down into the pool. The younger face of Bellatrix was there still, bright in the moonlight. She seemed rather conflicted about something.

"Hermione?" Bellatrix started. "If you're really thirty years in the future, there is… a good chance that I'm still alive."

Of course, she wasn't. But Hermione felt it wasn't her place to tell her that. She did her best to keep her expression as neutral as possible as she peered into the pool.

"I don't want to know what happens to me," said Bellatrix, her voice resolute.

"You don't?"

"It might be good, but it might also be bad. Or something in between. I don't want to… to lose hope. I don't want to live towards a bad future," Bellatrix cast her eyes downward, the sadness clear in her expression.

"But what if it's good?" Hermione asked, instantly cursing herself for asking that question. Bellatrix's future, as it stood, was anything but good after all.

Bellatrix looked up again. "You see, that's the thing. Good and bad is in the eye of the beholder. I… just don't want to take the risk, Hermione. So promise me. Promise me you will never tell me about what's going to happen in my future. And not even the future in general. I just don't want to know. I want to live in the now. I don't to live worrying about things that might or might not happen."

Hermione nodded. "I promise. And I promise to be careful."

"Good," smiled Bellatrix. "We can chat about everything else. School. Life. Family. Hobbies. Anything."

"Hm," said Hermione. "It helps to have a guideline. How about... we don't talk about anything that could be in the Daily Prophet? Things like local or world news, I mean. Does that make sense?"

"That does makes sense," smiled Bellatrix.

"I can't promise I won't let anything small slip in casual conversation, but I'll do my best to be very careful," Hermione promised. Perhaps sharing too much with Bellatrix' about her ultimate fate would be terribly cruel indeed.

"I won't lie. I have thousands of questions, but it's for the best that I don't ask them," replied Bellatrix.

They spent some time chatting about minor things, mostly school work related, until Bellatrix apparently checked the time and found it to be 3:55. If their theory was correct, the pool would soon stop working again. "Will you be back tomorrow?" Bellatrix asked, again oddly hopeful.

Hermione thought a moment. "I'll have to find another way to get permission to be out late. I can't keep telling Professor Sprout I need to go out to find more glowcaps."

"Permission?" Bellatrix blinked. "You asked permission?"

"Yes. Didn't you?"

"Pfft, _no_ ," Bellatrix raised an eyebrow, slightly Hermione a slightly mocking expression. "I go where I please, Hermione, and I have my ways," she leaned forward and grinned. "You know the painting of Shifty Pete Bivander, right? On the ground floor some two corridors away from Gryffindor Tower and about three from the Slytherin dungeon entrance?"

"Yes," replied Hermione. The painting was that of a famous wizard, called trickster by some and con-artist by others. He was a rather cheeky fellow who stole money from the rich but unfortunately never got around to actually give it to the poor. A scoundrel, yes, but also a master at Alchemy and Transfiguration.

"Just whisper the word 'Unxmaal' in his ear and he will allow you to pull the level behind his frame to reveal a secret corridor leading out underneath the lake right into the Forbidden Forest, near Hogsmeade," said Bellatrix. "It's just one straight walk to freedom. That's how I get in and out of the Hog's Head for some good old fashioned underage drinking. Or if I just want to be by myself out here to write or some such."

"Unxmaal," Hermione repeated. "I don't know if I should. It sounds rather..."

"Oh, come on, Hermione," Bellatrix pouted slightly. "I'd love it if we could chat more."

Hermione sighed. The pool started to shimmer as the magic was once again fading away. "Alright, I'll give it a shot. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Good!" Bellatrix replied. "See you tomorrow!"

"Goodbye," Hermione said, the last thing she saw in the pool being Bellatrix's smile. Hermione sat there for a moment, staring at the now still waters showing her own reflection and thinking just how surreal all of this was becoming.

Oddest thing was that Hermione was actually looking forward to talking to Bellatrix again and she didn't really know why.

* * *

As it stood, she simply gathered her things, folded up her blanket and gathered her basket full of glowcaps. Hermione headed back to the edge of the forest until she hit the bank of the lake and then steeled herself for the long trek towards the main entrance of the castle. Supposedly if this secret entrance came out near Hogsmeade it would mean far less of a walk. She promised herself she'd scope it out tomorrow.

When she arrived at the castle, she suppressed a yawn: the sky was clear and she could see the sun starting to rise from the east. Thankfully, it was Saturday so she could sleep in late. She knocked on the gate and after a glaring Filch let her in, she headed straight to the dorm. Her bed was very welcoming after she had tossed off her clothes and went for a quick wash. After lying down, she let the tiredness wash over her. Still, Hermione was curious.

Bellatrix seemed... nice. So innocent, enthusiastic, even. Hell, when not shouting in her face or blabbering on about magical purity, she actually seemed like an honest to goodness _person_.

But Hermione also remembered the vile woman she'd become: the scar on her arm was a clear indication of that. What could have happened which turned her from that cheerful teenager into the insane and deluded Bellatrix Lestrange whom had so cruelly tortured her?

Hermione was ever more determined to find out.

By now, Bellatrix had become an undeniable expert at sneaking in and out of Hogwarts. In all her years at this school, she had only been caught once and even then managed to get away with it by claiming she'd been sleep walking. Which the prefect on duty, rather miraculously, actually believed.

It never did stop being exciting. Just going out on her own, sneak into town, into the forest and whenever she wanted to go. She navigated the halls expertly and had gotten it down to an art. Slinking along the walls, she made her way back to the Slytherin dungeon and crept back to her dorm room. Her three hapless roommates had no idea she'd even been gone and, after applying a spell to herself which would muffle any sounds, changed into her night clothes and crawled into her warm bed.

As she lay staring at the ceiling, her thoughts immediately drifted to the girl in the pool.

Hermione.

She was interesting. Smart. Funny.

A smile crossed her face: cute. She was also cute.

Then, her finely tuned Slytherin instincts kicked in again. Bellatrix wondered why she was so trusting of this girl? She usually wasn't, after all. At Hogwarts she couldn't trust anyone but a a very few select individuals: all others would use her for their own devices, either as a means to gain access to her prominent family's influence or her own considerable skills. In her fourth year, there was a boy whom had thought up an staggeringly complicated multi-level scheme for the mere reason of wanting to copy her homework on the regular.

Bellatrix still lay staring at the ceiling, new-formed doubts gnawing at her.

Would this girl be any different? She could just be another parasite with the desire to latch onto her, after all?

But how would that make sense? Bellatrix was in the past. Hermione was in the future. There was thirty years of time in between them, very much a unique situation. And, being from the future, how _could_ Hermione actually benefit from trying to exploit her? What _could_ she possibly gain? If anything, Hermione should be far more distrustful of _her._ Bellatrix could stand to gain more with future knowledge than Hermione could from past knowledge.

One thing that struck her that Hermione _might_ be trying to influence future events, but how could that even be? From Hermione's perspective, all of this would have already happened. Hell, if the Warlock Paul Manheim was correct, and she was sure he was, the immutable aspects of time flows could mean that Hermione was _supposed_ to contact her from the future to make sure that whatever happens in future actually happened. Damn… this stuff was complicated.

Either way, it meant very little to her in the present. There was no harm in talking to Hermione. Hell, she even seemed rather _wary_ when Bellatrix had mentioned her prominent family name, which was a rather rare reaction.

Of course, there was the question of the magic pool itself. What was this pool? How could she speak to someone so far in the future? It had all been a pure chance meeting, but that made it all the more special. A friend... from the future.

This was different than sneaking out for some under-age drinking or practicing dark arts in the forest. This was... an actual adventure. A secret adventure. Something that was for her and her alone. Bellatrix decided that she wouldn't even share this with her sisters. She couldn't. Andie was too much of a blabbermouth and Cissy would try to find a way to exploit knowledge from the future. No, she'd have to keep it a secret.

This was excitement. Perhaps even… the last adventure she would ever experience before fulfilling her duties to wizarding society as a pure-blood witch. One last chance before…

A grim thought crossed over her and, really, she didn't want to think about it. For now she would sleep and, perhaps, dream about the mysterious girl in the pool.

* * *

For the few hours left in the night, Bellatrix had slept exceedingly well. After a refreshing shower, she twirled her wand through her hair and ended up with curls which were just a tad puffier than usual. This suited her fine for now.

She changed into a uniform which she, at least, couldn't wait to ditch at the of the year and left the Slytherin dungeons for the Great Hall for breakfast, her bookbag strapped over her shoulder. Students were already pouring in by the time she got there.

Bellatrix strode over to the end of the Slytherin table, where three seats next to each other were free. Three seats which every Slytherin knew were reserved. Bellatrix took the middle seat and waited a while. It didn't take long for her sisters to arrive. Andromeda, an eager fifth year with soft brown hair and Narcissa, a plucky third year with stark blond hair, were chatting merrily as they entered the Great Hall, immediately making a beeline for their seats.

"Well, good morning you two," Bellatrix said, greeting the only two people in the world she fully and completely trusted.

"Hey there," Andie returned.

"Bella, have you seen what happened near the Hufflepuff common room?" Cissy giggled.

Bellatrix frowned. "I only just got out of the shower. What did I miss?"

"Some gormless arse set up some stink-hexes near the door," Andromeda rolled her eyes. "So when the first students came out this morning, they exploded and made the whole corridor… _and_ all the people in it… smell like absolute shite. Then a few of the students ran back inside the common room and carried the curses with them, where they spread to the rest of the puffs. _Every_ single puff has it on them now."

"HAH!" Bellatrix laughed. "I'm sorry I missed that."

"I know!" Cissy giggled. "Best start of the day ever!"

Come to mention, there had been a rather… intrusive whiff coming from the Hufflepuff table. Whoever devised that prank had intimate knowledge of the many smells of the English countryside. Instantly, Cissy started making faces at them.

"Don't do that, Cissy," Andie huffed, giving a few of at the Hufflepuffs a sympathetic look.

Bellatrix shrugged. "Well, for once, they can't blame me for it. I was at the dorm when it happened and I have witnesses."

"Oh, they already dragged the culprit off to the Head Master's office," said Narcissa. "Gryffindor. Upset about a lost match. Seriously, if it had been a Slytherin, they wouldn't have gotten caught in the first place."

The three sisters were quickly drawn to see what the house elves had on the menu for today and there was a plethora of choice. "Hm, nutbread!" exclaimed Andie, glad that her favourite food was on today. Cissy went for scones and clotted-cream, while Bellatrix went for a full-on fry-up. Bacon, eggs, baked beans and sausages. Bellatrix could certainly do with some hearty bangers right now. Almost full nights up required a hearty refuelling at the start of the day.

"Transfigurations first," sighed Andie after chewing and swallowing a piece of nutbread. "McGonagall hates me."

"If you're not wearing red, you're on her shit-list immediately," Cissy rolled her eyes.

Bellatrix shrugged after popping a bit of sausage in her mouth. "Eh, she's alright. It's not as if other teachers don't have favourites. We don't depend on others. We only depend on ourselves. That's how it's always been."

The curly-haired witch took a moment to wrap an arm around both her sisters' shoulders. Not only for a show of much needed affection, for the three sisters had an unbreakable bond, but also to subtly signal to the other students that both her sisters were under her complete protection.

A signal that if someone were to do harm to them in any shape or form, there would be… consequences. And it always worked. Few people dared to mess with Bellatrix Black, after all. So for her sisters, life was relatively easy at Hogwarts when it came to interactions with other students.

"Bella?" asked Cissy, being somewhat embarrassed. "Will you help me with my Arithmancy assignment? I just can't wrap my head around some of these calculations."

"Sure," said Bellatrix. "I think I already know what problems you might be having. Drop by at the seventh year dorm later and we'll figure it out."

"Thanks, Bella."

It was then that Andie gave her an intense look.

"What?" Bellatrix frowned.

"There's something different about you today, Bella."

"Oh?"

"You're less dour, smiling more, there's a twinkle in your eye. And you didn't even roll your eyes once when Cissy asked you to help her with her homework. What's going on here?" Andromeda chuckled, crossing her arms while giving her a knowing smirk.

Bellatrix shrugged, keeping her expression neutral. "Who can tell?"

"I can tell! I'm going to find out, you know?" Andie winked.

"Good luck!" said Bellatrix, right before blowing her a raspberry.

Andie promptly made a face. "Oh, that's nice!" she rolled her eyes.

Bellatrix chuckled and offered her a grin. "Don't think I haven't seen you glaring at the Hufflepuff table. New rivalry, huh?" she said. Instantly, Andie was on the defensive, her hackles definitely raised.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she huffed, raising her chin slightly.

Oh, now Bellatrix knew for certain something was up. She wondered what it could be about this time. Someone speaking insult to Andie's face, gloating about getting a better grade or simply blocking her path once would be enough. The three sisters, though they loved each other dearly, were very different in character and demeanour, after all. Bellatrix would react to slights instantly and viciously. Cissy was a consummate backstabber for whom almost everyone was fair game. But Andie? Andie held _grudges_. She was an expert at playing the long con, striking when least expected and often months after the initial slight. Andie never forgot or forgave. In fact, there was a definite case to be made that, of all three Black sisters, Andromeda was the most dangerous.

The three sisters chatted a bit more until breakfast was done and class was about to begin. Bellatrix rose from her seat and sighed before following her sisters into the hallways.

Time for more mind-numbing boredom for a couple of hours.

The real moment she was looking forward to, was talking to Hermione again later that night.


	3. Yearbooks

The library was still one of Hermione's favourite places at Hogwarts. Being surrounded by so many books, so much history and the smell of ancient magically preserved paper soothed her and reminded her of a more simpler time in her life. A more innocent time.

But Hermione wasn't here for study or recreation today: she was in an oft overlooked section of the library. The school archive contained records, photographs, yearbooks and accounts of students going as far back as Hogwarts' founding in 993. It had been a bit of a chore to actually find the old records and yearbooks of 1968 as madam Prince had been in the process of optimizing the archive for the past weeks and was only making slow progress. Everything had been put in boxes ready to be sorted into the school archive: unfortunately, the boxes had been rather poorly marked. Sorting through it all had taken her far longer than she would have liked.

Once she did eventually track down the files from 1968, it didn't take her long to find Bellatrix Black's records. From the look of things, Bellatrix had graduated with full honours, having achieved an 'Outstanding' grade on her NEWTs in no less than nine subjects. Two more than the seven Hermione had picked. One of the filed records was actually her final Arithmancy thesis, spread out over three scrolls. She unfurled them and glanced through it, only to be instantly enthralled. In her thesis, Bellatrix postulated that the certainly magical properties of numbers could shape reality of those calculating with them, which could in turn affect the magical properties of said numbers after reality had been reshaped. Hermione was woman enough to admit that the subject almost went over her head, but the calculations Bellatrix provided to prove her thesis all checked out and were stunningly precise.

This thesis was undeniably a work of brilliance, once Hermione had managed to wrap her head about the concept of high density randomness zones and low density void zones. If this was but one of her works, the word prodigy wouldn't even begin to describe Bellatrix.

Then again, unlike Hermione, Bellatrix had a list of reprimands as long as her arm. Mostly minor things such as pranks, general disruptive behaviour or simply not turning up for class at all. She was a troublemaker… a troublemaker who had graduated with full honours. It had all of the hallmarks of a person too clever for the courses and getting bored in class as a result.

Then to the yearbook. She flipped through the yellowed pages until she came to the Slytherin part of the book. First was the photograph of the Slytherin Quidditch team, where Bellatrix was one of the chasers. She stood there, leaning on her broom in her green tunic and leather limb protectors, smiling at the camera. Bellatrix seemed happy in this photograph, vibrant and full of life.

A stark contrast with her end-of-year class photograph, where she and her fellow Slytherins sat for the photo holding their well-earned diploma's. She looked dour, miserable and bereft of any joy.

"What happened to you?" Hermione whispered to herself.

She flipped through more pages and spotted Bellatrix in a few more photographs. Flying broomstick with two others girls, younger. It took her a while to identify them as the Black sisters. Then there was a photograph of her at Herbology... it seemed odd to see someone like Bellatrix, a rich pure-blood aristocrat, sat on her knees digging in the dirt to look for blisterwort roots. Another photograph showed her on top of the Astronomy tower with a few Slytherins. She studied the photograph intently, trying to figure out why Bellatrix was looking so... forlorn.

"Ah, miss Granger. I figured you'd be here," sounded the voice of McGonagall as she stepped into the archive. "Once you go missing, you will turn up in the library sooner rather than later."

"Professor?" Hermione looked up, but instantly closed her eyes and let out a sigh. "We had an appointment..." she muttered to herself. "I'm so sorry, it completely slipped my mind."

"Though I suspect you will be inundated with job offers the moment you graduate," McGonagall said, a slight hint of a smile on her face. "That does not diminish the need for career advice. In fact, it should make it all the more poignant."

"Again, I'm so sorry," replied Hermione. "I completely lost track of time."

McGonagall looked over her shoulder, apparently glancing at the yearbook. Some concern was etched on her face. "Are you having more nightmares, miss Granger?" she asked gently.

Hermione pursed her lips. How to breach the subject? "I... was just wondering," Hermione asked. "Some of her work was in the file. Groundbreaking work, stuff I can barely wrap my head around. She was a genius."

McGonagall's gaze became somewhat distant. "That she was. Undeniably so."

"You knew her when she was a student, right?" asked Hermione. "What was she like back then?"

McGonagall took a seat and sat down at the side of the desk to look Hermione in the eye. "Miss Black was... a regular seventeen year old girl in many regards. Brilliant, certainly. She earned the title Brightest Witch of her Age ten times over, which is probably why You-Know-Who was so interested in recruiting her."

You-Know-Who. Even with Voldemort being confirmed dead, many wizards and witches still referred to him in that way. She supposed some habits were hard to shake.

"However, she was also quite the troublemaker," said McGonagall. "Sometimes smart people are that way when they lack challenge. She was passionate and bold. Even somewhat of a romantic."

"Bellatrix Lestrange? A romantic?" Hermione frowned. "That's the last thing I would describe her as."

"Hm," McGonagall nodded. "There was great sadness within her. However, unlike you, miss Granger, she actually attended her career advice sessions."

"Ouch," Hermione sighed, but smiled when she saw a twinkle in McGonagall's eye.

"Miss Black told me often and passionately about all the things she would love to do with her life," said McGonagall. "She wanted to be an explorer and travel the Earth in search of new lands and new discoveries. At one point, she wanted to be a monster hunter. I admit that was a new one for me and one I haven't heard since. During her later years, she focused on more creative outlets such as painting or writing. Though her interests lay decidedly among the disturbing and macabre, the stories she did show me were certainly well-crafted. And, well, time spent working on her horrific tales was time _not_ spent being setting the Gryffindor house banners on fire. Starting from her seventh year, however..."

"Yes?" Hermione asked.

McGonagall pursed her lips. "It is a terrible thing, being asked to sacrifice one's own happiness and wishes for the sake of a failing ideal. She came in only once and that was basically to tell me that any further appointments would be pointless, as there would be no career for her in her future. This was a day after her impending marriage had been widely announced in the Daily Prophet. I had never seen her so sad and bereft of passion."

Hermione pursed her lips and blew out a sigh through her teeth. "Arranged marriages..."

"I've heard of love growing from an arranged marriage, certainly," replied McGonagall. "But just as often, it does not."

Hermione nodded. "What do you think turned her into the monster she became?" she asked. "Could it be this?"

McGonagall shook her head. "I don't think it was any one thing, miss Granger," she said. "Ultimately, Bellatrix is responsible for her own choices in life. Perhaps it was through You-Know-Who where she hoped to gain the freedom and exciting life she craved. Perhaps having to sacrifice her own wishes embittered her to a point she started to resent others. Perhaps both. Perhaps neither. I have no doubt that, in another life, she could have been a great witch known for exploring the darkest of Africa or weaving the most wondrous of tales."

"But instead it was not to be," said Hermione. "Instead she became known as a dangerous murderer, wielding the darkest of arts."

"Fact remains that she was not so different from you and I at one point. It is a reminder that any one of us can be capable of falling into great darkness. A sobering thought, perhaps."

"I've been thinking of her a lot as of late," said Hermione.

"I don't blame you," replied McGonagall. "But don't forget that she is beyond harming you."

"Is she?" Hermione raised an eyebrow.

McGonagall put a hand on her shoulder. "We've all suffered through this war, miss Granger," she said. "Perhaps it is time to let go, hm? Shall I reschedule our appointment?"

"Please do," said Hermione. "I'm not exactly in the right state of mind for it at the moment."

"Perhaps you should take some time off," said McGonagall. "Spend some time with your family."

"I would like that," said Hermione. "I'll think about it."

After McGonagall left her in the archive, Hermione spent some time watching one last photograph. One of Bellatrix at the duelling club. Though the picture only captured a brief moment of the duel, it was obvious that she was relentless and focused, wiping the floor with her opponent. Even then, it was clear she could be deadly.

Was she playing with fire by talking to the younger Bellatrix? She didn't quite know why she didn't tell McGonagall about the magic pool or her contact with the young Bellatrix. There was something alluring about having a secret and... there was something about young Bellatrix which intrigued her, even though she couldn't lay a finger on it.

Tonight, she would see her again and, to be honest, the idea of sneaking out of the castle in the dead of night felt exciting to her. Almost as exciting as talking to Bellatrix again.

After packing her bag and replacing the books in the archive where she had found them, Hermione exited the library and headed over to her dorm for an exciting afternoon of studying. Unfortunately, she wouldn't get far. A few steps out of the library, she rather absent-mindedly rounded the corner and found her way blocked by an arm stretched from the wall to its owner: Cormac McLaggen.

The boy who wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.

Hermione supposed she was partly to blame for this situation: a year ago, she had asked the boy to accompany him to a gathering of the Slug Club for the sole reason of making Ron jealous. It was one of stupidest soap-opera like ideas she had ever had and was still paying the price for it. He was arrogant, self-absorbed and, unfortunately, rather over-assertive when it came to romantic endeavours. And he quite fancied her, a feeling which was certainly not mutual.

He had been so obsessed with Quidditch that he sacrificed his schoolwork and actually had to be held back a year. Unfortunately, that meant Hermione was forced to spend a lot of classes with him. She'd caught her staring at her from a distance more than once. Though Hermione had little to no romantic attention, the way Cormac was overdoing it was more than a little disturbing.

"Hhhherrrmione," the wire-haired boy grinned his usual grin. "When are you going to stop playing hard to get, hm?"

Hermione let out a sigh. "McLaggen. I am not in the mood for you today. Please let me go on my way."

McLaggen sidled forward, placing his other arm to the wall as well and trapping Hermione between his two arms. The way he bent forward rather disturbed Hermione. "I said 'no'," said Hermione, trying to be assertive, but hearing her voice crack a little. Something about this was way too familiar about the time... the time Bellatrix had her trapped on the floor of Malfoy Manor, pitting her down, leering over her... hurting her.

Hermione looked up at him, anger in her eyes. With all the energy she could muster, she grit her teeth and hissed. "Let... me... go..."

"Come on, Hermione, you don't know what you want," chuckled Cormac. "Let me treat you to a good time. Don't you get it, we're such a good match. You the brains and the beauty, I the brawn and the power."

Hermione bristled. "McLaggen. For the last time. 'NO!'. Is that so hard to understand?!"

"Come on, Hermione," McLaggen showed that toothy grin of his. "You still owe me for the mistletoe at the Slug Club Christmas party."

Hermione was sure that, in his mind, he was a suave and sophisticated Casanova who meant to sweep her off her feet with his witty and clever banter. In reality, McLaggen simply didn't realize that he was being a boorish lout who had been trying to use that mistletoe-fact against her every since they'd both returned to school and, despite having been told off many times before, simply refused to learn. So, she would endeavour to tell him again.

"McLaggen," Hermione sighed. "Enough. Just... enough! I'm not interested! Get it through that thick skull of yours that standing under the mistletoe almost two years ago doesn't give you any legal rights to whatever it is you have on your mind! So stop being so forward and take a hint! NO MEANS NO!"

"Oh, Hermione," Cormac laughed, once again proving that he wasn't able to take a hint. "You just don't know what you want. I'd be happy to help you decide."

What happened next was a flurry of happenings and it went by so fast that it took Hermione a few moments to reconstruct what had happened. In the end, Cormac ended up sprawled on the floor rubbing his painful jaw, giving Hermione a chance to recover from the claustrophobic experience. The person whom had delivered the punch was no other than Ron, now standing over him and glowering. "Hermione told you to leave her alone," Ron snarled.

"What the hell?!" Cormac grunted as he scrambled to his feet. "You've had your chance, Weasley! She rejected you, so step aside for someone else!"

"Get lost, McLaggen!" Ron narrowed his eyes. "Hermione is my friend and if I see you near her again, I swear I'll do more than just punch you out on your arse!"

Apparently, McLaggen finally gained enough understanding of the situation to take the hint and, after a bit of grumbling, took off into the corridor. Ron turned Hermione. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yeah," Hermione lied. Honestly, she was quite shaken up from the experience. Not so much because of Cormac's antics, but rather about the flashback it had given her. The flashback of Bellatrix torturing her on the cold floor of Malfoy Manor. Still, she tried to keep a brave face on, more for Ron's sake than for her own. "I'll be fine," she lied.

Together, the two of them walked over to the Great Hall and sat down at on the tables. "What brings you here, Ron?" asked Hermione after pouring them both some drinks.

"Auror stuff," said Ron. "Tagging along with Savage and Proudfoot to the Hog's Head here in Hogsmeade. One of the locals had a potential lead on Rodolphus Lestrange. Found out I'm not really all that good at interrogating people. Savage says I still have a lot to learn, but I'll get there eventually. Figured I'd step in for a visit to see how you were doing."

Hermione gave him a smile and a nod: she was grateful to catch up with an old friend. Truth be told, she missed him and Harry. She missed the friendship and companionship. Her seventh year was shaping up to be a very quiet one without her friends.

"Why did you even even return to this miserable place?" Ron laughed. "You should have become an auror with us. The three of us together at the auror office would have made us unstoppable."

"Ah, you know me," said Hermione. "I hate to leave something unfinished. Besides, I'm not sure being an auror is for me. Honestly, I'm not quite sure what I want to do with my life yet. Been trying to figure out what I want to do."

"I think you can do everything you want to do, Hermione," Ron shrugged.

"I'm more concerned about so many Death Eaters still being at large," said Hermione.

"Eh," Ron shrugged. "We've tracked down quite a few, but others like Dolohov or Lestrange? It seems they've fallen right off the Earth. But don't worry, we'll find them. Without Voldemort, they're just regular run-of-the-mill dark wizards. Are you sure you're alright, Hermione? You do look a bit tired."

"I haven't been sleeping well," Hermione replied.

"Nightmares?" Ron asked. Hah, her friend knew her well.

"Been thinking about Bellatrix a lot lately."

"Bellatrix?! That foul harpy?" Ron snorted. "Though, yeah, I'd say I know why you'd have nightmares then."

"You ever wonder, Ron?" Hermione asked. "You ever wonder what could make someone become someone like her?"

"Sometimes," said Ron. "I don't believe people are born pure evil. But I do think that there must always have been something bad within her. Regular people just don't become... _her_."

Hermione pursed her lips, losing herself in thought. "Perhaps. I'd like to think that, at some point, Bellatrix was just another teenager, just like us, with hopes and dreams and wants. And then something... I... I don't really know... It just makes me sad."

Ron regarded her for a moment and put her hand on hers. "Hermione, why don't you ask McGonagall to give you a few days off school and come back to the Burrow. You'll be among good company, and enjoy some delicious home cooking and, best of all, just have some time to relax."

"I don't think your mum will like having me around," Hermione gave him a half-smile. "She still thinks I dumped you."

"Nonsense," said Ron. "We all still love you and would enjoy having you around. I'll handle my mum should she get a bit crabby. We both decided to part as friends. Everybody knows that. It was even in the papers thanks to that Skeeter bint."

Hermione bit her lip for a moment. "I don't know..."

Ron laughed. "McLaggen was right about one thing: you really don't know what you want."

The young witch let that statement rattle through her head for a moment, and sighed when she could only agree. "I finally have enough time to stop and think. And I have a tendency to over-think. You're right. I have no idea what I want. Still, I do know what I _don't_ want."

"Which is?"

"Having McLaggen slobber all over me like an over-eager Saint Bernard," Hermione chuckled briefly.

"Hah," said Ron. "Comparing McLaggen to a Saint Bernard is an insult to such a noble breed of dogs."

"Yes," Hermione laughed. "At least the dogs are actually cute. Thanks Ron."

"For what?"

"Making me laugh."

"Any time," said Ron before patting Hermione on the hand and getting up to leave. "Remember, my offer stands."

Hermione seemed thoughtful for a moment. "Ron? Could I ask you something?"

"Hm?" Ron turned around, waiting for Hermione to speak.

"Speaking... completely hypothetically, of course," Hermione bit her lip. "Say that you suddenly had the opportunity to... speak to someone in the past. To talk to them. To get to know them. To maybe... change an outcome you know is a bad one. Would you do it?"

Ron frowned at first, mulling it over for a bit. "Hm," he muttered. "Change someone's fate, you mean? But how would you be sure the new outcome would be any better?"

Hermione nodded as she considered that response. As she watched Ron leave, Hermione had definitely been left with some food for thought.

* * *

After a rather _riveting_ afternoon of grading transfiguration essays, Minerva McGonagall felt the need to catch some fresh air. Her office, located in the Turris Magnus, was conveniently located near the top of the tower where there was a high parapet looking over the lake before. This was off-limits to students and only she and Filch had the key. Perfect for spending some time alone with her own thoughts before heading back down to the Great Hall for evening meal.

So imagine her surprise when she found that someone was already there.

A girl, seventh year, short in stature, bearing Slytherin colours, was stood staring over the chest-high wall, down at the lake. McGonagall could recognize the girl immediately as Bellatrix Black: the vibrant curly black hair was unmistakable.

Her first reaction was to bristle: Miss Black was being disobedient yet _again_. This parapet was off-limits to students because it was unsafe and somehow miss Black had found her way through a magically locked door. McGonagall wondered what excuse could she have for this particular transgression.

She was about to rush to the student to give her a piece of a mind and a month's worth of detention until something gave her pause. The way miss Black's shoulders shook… and that sniffing sound she heard when she was close enough to hear it was unmistakable. Miss Black was weeping softly.

She stopped for the moment, wondering what to do. The girl had yet to notice her and McGonagall decided that the best thing to do was to announce herself. A brief cough would do the trick.

And it did. Instantly, the now startled girl whirled around, looking at her with wide, wet and red eyes the moment she did. "Oh… OH!" she exclaimed. "Professor! I… Sorry, I just… I just have something in my eyes."

Ah, her stubborn pride.

"Of course," said McGonagall. "It can be quite windy up here."

The girl nodded.

"Which is exactly the reason why this door is usually locked," said McGonagall. "Care to explain how you found your way onto this parapet, miss Black?"

"Well," miss Black bit her lip, her tears now dried. "The lock obviously is enchanted to shock anyone with no key or the wrong key, correct?"

McGonagall nodded. She had enchanted the lock herself, after all. A few moments later, Miss Black produced a small hand mirror, set in a cold iron frame. "I enchanted this mirror to capture magical discharges on its surface and expel it when the charge gets too high. Because it's set in cold iron, the magic has nowhere else to go but outward. I had to find the right angle, but if you reflect its own magic back unto the lock, it'll open."

McGonagall was about to say something, but closed her mouth just as quickly. A slight semblance of a smile tugged on the corners of her mouth: miss Black was a very clever problem-solver, and had bypassed the lock by using the characteristics of its own charm against it. Not to mention, using cold iron which was a notoriously poor conductor for magic, to direct the flow of magic itself was just the type of solution to a problem miss Black would come up with.

She remembered first seeing miss Black so long ago now: all of eleven years old, arrogant and determined. Miss Black walked into the school with her head held high with intentions of conquest. Truly, miss Black only 'mellowed', as it were, when her two younger sisters also started to attend school.

And yet, young Bellatrix had been the subject of a hatstall during the sorting ceremony. The Sorting Hat had a long deliberation on whether miss Black should be placed in Slytherin or Ravenclaw. Though she was undeniably Slytherin material, McGonagall couldn't help wondering if Ravenclaw could have been a far better environment for miss Black.

"I suppose I should change the charm on the lock, but I have a feeling you will simply break it again," said McGonagall. "So perhaps I should simply give you the key and spare us both the trouble, hm?"

Miss Black gave her a grateful look for a moment, before turning her gaze back to the lake.

"To think. To be alone," she spoke.

"Miss Black?"

"Why I'm here," she said. "That was going to be your next question, right?"

"I would think you should be quite familiar to that feeling," said McGonagall, instantly regretting her words. They had come out much harsher than she had intended: miss Black had no true friends, after all. She was about to apologize when miss Black simply nodded.

"You'd be right," said miss Black. "Now that Evelyn left, I have no one else to talk to than my sisters. Though perhaps… perhaps…"

"Miss Black?" McGonagall frowned as miss Black turned her gaze towards the Forbidden Forest in the distance.

Miss Black said nothing, simply staring off into the distance again. "Do you ever wonder what it's all about, professor? The purpose of it all?"

McGonagall stood next to her, frowning. "Oh dear, miss Black, are you asking me for the meaning of life? If you are, I have no answers for you. Greater wizards than myself have struggled with that question without ever finding an answer."

"Nothing quite so profound," replied miss Black. "I just… I wonder why I bother."

"How so?"

"My family is rich beyond belief. I will never want for anything," said miss Black. "My life is laid out for me. I will marry. I will have children. I will be a pure-blood paragon. I will live a life of luxury… but I will accomplish nothing."

"Miss Black?" asked McGonagall, a soft prodding for her to explain herself.

"I don't need to put in any effort. At all. I could score an outstanding mark or a troll mark and nothing would change my future," said miss Black. "And yet I want to apply myself. I want to succeed. I want to be the best."

"Truth be told," said McGonagall. "You don't need to exert yourself to gain an outstanding mark. Your behaviour not withstanding, miss Black, you have a natural talent for magic."

Miss Black smiled briefly, but it faded quickly. "That's not what I mean, professor. I look out there and I see the Forbidden Forest in the distance. And I think to myself 'I want to go there'."

"Years ago," said McGonagall, getting a bit uncomfortable revealing something of a personal nature. "I had to choose between love and a magical career. To this very day I wonder if I made the right choice. But it is the choice I made and have to live with regardless."

Miss Black seemed to think over her words for a moment. Then, in a voice that was laced with bitterness and eyes that once again turned red with unshed years, miss Black gave a reply. "At least you _had_ a choice."

Miss Black was someone who refused to be pitied, filled with stubborn pride as she was. That day, however, she allowed McGonagall to lay a hand on her shoulder as the two of them stood there in silence, watching over the lake until it was time for evening dinner.


	4. Looking Back at Ourselves

As per usual Bellatrix woke up around midnight after only a few hours of sleep. She turned her head to the window and found the full moon out above a clear sky. A smile tugged at her lips as she carefully slipped out of bed. Bellatrix had done this dance so many times before now that she'd gotten quite adept at silently getting dressed and had already prepared her pack. In less than two minutes, Bellatrix was ready to leave her clueless roommates behind in their beds and silently stalked through the corridors.

Left. Left again. Up the stairs. Hard right.

The painting of Shifty Pete loomed at the end of the corridor: a rather roguish black clad sorcerer tipped his hat when he saw her approach. "Evenin' Bella," he greeted with a whisper.

"Evening Pete," replied Bellatrix, keeping her voice down. "Unxmaal."

"'Ave fun," he winked as his frame slid aside, revealing an opening in the wall and a spiral staircase leading down. Bellatrix quickly entered the opening and rushed down the stairs just as the painting replaced itself.

Ahead of her was a long, dark and dank corridor which led all the way underneath the lake. From here on, it was smooth sailing. Bellatrix calmed walked through the corridor, its magical torches bursting to life as she approached and going out behind her when she'd crossed enough distance. Finally, she arrived at another set of stairs leading up and, after a short climb, a hatch opened itself and Bellatrix emerged on the shores of the Black Lake. Behind her, the hatch closed and to anyone not in the know, the passage would only look like a small collection of large stones lain on the shores of the lake.

Bellatrix closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, taking in the smells of the lake, the sounds of the forest and the coolness of the night air. This is what it meant to be free.

She checked her watch and found she still had plenty of time until the witching hour. First, she was drawn to the lights of Hogsmeade and, after a five minute walk, entered town. Still, she had to be on her toes a bit: she'd rather not run into a teacher here so she avoided the high street until she came to the Hog's Head.

She found the Hog's Head in a bustle with quite a lot of wizards and witches around. As per usual, she did a quick scan of the room to make sure there weren't any teachers in sight. By now, the proprietor of the Hog's Head had already spotted her and waved her over. She gotten know the bearded man quite well over the past few months and he would usually give her a hand-sign if there was a teacher in the common room. Today he did not, so the coast was clear.

Soft music played from a visiting band while she plopped herself onto a barstool and listened to two witches arguing about the current prices of frost tubers. Aberforth Dumbledore stood behind the bar cleaning glasses. He held up a mug and studied it. Finding it clean enough, he put it in front of Bellatrix.

"Ah, how's my favourite under-age drinker doing?" he asked.

"Thirsty," Bellatrix replied and tossed a few coins on the bar.

"That's what I like to hear," the man who was, ironically, Dumbledore's brother, chuckled heartily. "Remember what we agreed upon. One drink only. I don't want a repeat of the last day of school back in June."

Bellatrix grimaced. She'd celebrated the end of school a bit too... enthusiastically. Waking up with a pounding headache in a pen while a goat was licking her face had been quite the experience. Seeing Bellatrix was still underage, she'd had to promise Aberforth to limit her intake to one drink per visit until she'd turn 18.

So, ale or fire whiskey? What a choice. Fire whiskey was always good, but she'd be meeting Hermione again later on the other side of the magic pool and she wanted to be lucid for that. "Pint of ale," Bellatrix finally decided. That would make her just tipsy enough for some inspiration to work on her next story.

"Ale it is," Aberforth smiled and poured her a pint of Ole Fishy Green Ale, a local speciality. Minty, cinnamon tinted ale laced with eggs of lake sturgeons. She found the drink soothing and refreshing while the alcohol shot right to her head. Bellatrix thanked Aberforth and, now sufficiently emboldened, stepped out of the Hog's Head and practically ran into the Forbidden Forest straight towards the location of the magical pool: her alluring secret adventure with the mysterious girl from the future.

Of course, once she arrived at the pool, she found it to still be inactive. The young Slytherin simply unpacked her backpack and produced blankets and a pillow to prop herself up against the gnarly dead tree: she would kill some time by working on her story, having decided that the creature that would kill the Rodolphus Lestrange lookalike would be the most vicious, meanest and ugliest skinwalker she could imagine.

Time passed as she worked, her quill sliding over the scroll effortlessly as the words came to her by the most inspiring mug of Old Fishy Green. In fact, she almost didn't notice that the magic of the pool had activated and was bathing the clearing in bluish magical light. Delighted to be able to talk to Hermione again, Bellatrix finished her sentence, rolled up the scroll and turned to... not see Hermione there.

That was odd.

She put away her quill and waited rather impatiently. Had something happened? Where could she be?

The answer came soon enough when a panting Hermione emerged in the pool. She was red in the face and looked like she had been running. "S-sorry. Sorry I'm late!" Hermione took a moment to catch her breath.

"Whoa, take a few breaths," Bellatrix smiled. "What happened? Did something chase you?"

"You could say that," Hermione took a few deep breaths. "I was almost caught trying to sneak out of the castle. I did what you said and followed the route to the painting hiding the secret passage. I almost fouled it up. I left my book-bag by the door, tripped over it in the dark and fell flat on my face right in the corridor. I still can't believe the prefect patrolling in the next corridor didn't hear the noise."

"Hah," Bellatrix chuckled. "Always remember where you put your things when you sneak out in the dark."

"It didn't help I couldn't find all my clothes at first," said Hermione. "That cost me precious time. And when I stepped out of the tower, I almost ran straight into the Hufflepuff prefect."

"Ouch," replied Bellatrix. "Bad timing!"

"And then when I was near the painting, I almost ran into a prefect again! Ravenclaw this time!" Hermione muttered. "Seriously, they're never around when you need them, but when you want them gone they're all over you."

"Sounds like my first and only boyfriend," Bellatrix snorted.

"Once I got through the painting, it was smooth sailing," said Hermione.

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. "Was that... your first time trying to sneak out of the castle? Oh, it was, wasn't it? Hah, the first time is always the best. Exciting, isn't it?"

Hermione let out a brief laugh, showing that she quite agreed. "Oh, you could say that," Hermione replied. All I could think of was all the detention and lectures I'd get if I'd get caught and dragged back to the dorm. And then to get away with it. God, such a rush!"

"Don't let it go to your head," chuckled Bellatrix. "Remember, you still have to get back inside your dorm later. Getting out of the castle is only the first half. A successful reentry is the second."

"I'll worry about that later," said Hermione as she settled herself down next to the pool. "For now I just want to bask in my success."

That made Bellatrix laugh again. "Escaping is something you'll get better at the more you do it."

Hermione seemed thoughtful for a moment. "Tell me about your first and only boyfriend."

Bellatrix shrugged. "Not much to tell. Puppy-love romance in my fifth year. Everett was a Ravenclaw. Nothing really came out of it. Just kid stuff. Peck on the cheek and holding hands. That sort of thing. You? Is there a man in your life?"

"There used to be," Hermione cast her eyes downward a little. "Ron. We were really good friends and went through a lot together. It eventually developed into a romance of a sort, but... it just got really awkward really quickly. I'm not sure which of us was the most relieved when we just decided to break up. We've gone back to just being really good friends and I'm grateful for that."

Bellatrix nodded. "Sometimes it just doesn't work out," she said.

"His mum still blames me for it, I think," laughed Hermione. "That's one woman you don't want to be angry with you. It's a shame, really, I would have enjoyed spending some time at their house."

"Hah, I'll keep that in mind," Bellatrix snorted, her mood falling more than a little. "The man in my life, if you could even call him that, is Rodolphus Lestrange."

Odd. She could see an involuntary cringe go through Hermione's body at the mere mention of his name: perhaps Hermione had heard of him in some way? Part of her wanted to ask, but then she remember she'd rather not know about the future. Regardless, that was no reason not to tell Hermione exactly what she thought of Rodolphus.

"What a disgusting little turd he is. And I'm supposed to marry him a few weeks after my graduation," Bellatrix spoke, sounding more embittered than she'd wanted to. "He already treats me as if he owns me! A man of wonderful pure-blood pedigree, Father tells me. Well, that may be, but he still has the manners of a particularly dim-witted troll and the dignity of a pill-bug! And saying that is an insult to pill-bugs! And to think I'm going to have to spend the rest of my life tied to that prat and share his bed!"

Hermione gave her a sad smile. One of sympathy. Though Bellatrix never did liked the idea of being pitied, this felt different. It felt as if Hermione understood. "Arranged marriage?" she asked.

"Yeah," Bellatrix muttered softly.

"I'm sorry," Hermione replied.

"Not your fault," Bellatrix shook her head.

Hermione pursed her lips. "There's a rotter like that in my life as well," replied Hermione. "And his name is Cormac McLaggen! He's been stalking me ever since the start of the school year! Yesterday, he cornered me in the corridor and refused to let me pass. That man is just so... romantically assertive and it's annoying me to no end!"

That made Bellatrix chortle briefly. "By romantically assertive, you mean he's trying to get inside your knickers, right?"

"And then some!" Hermione bristled.

Bellatrix shook her head. "Men, eh?"

The pool shimmered a little when Hermione gave her an indignant look. "It's not men! Some of the best people I've known are men… and some of the worst. It's just pathetic blowhards like McLaggen who never grew up and think they're entitled to everything. Infuriating little boys. No scratch that! I've known little boys with more maturity in their pinkie finger than McLaggen has in his entire body!"

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. "Are we still talking about McLaggen or are we talking about Rodolphus Lestrange? Because I can't tell the difference at this point."

"Well, then you understand why I'm so frustrated!" Hermione huffed. "He won't take no for an answer. God, how could I have been so stupid?!"

Bellatrix frowned. "Why do you call yourself stupid while he's the one harassing you?"

The brown-haired witch bit her lip for a moment and let out an embarrassed sigh. "I... I might have asked McLaggen out on a date to a Christmas party two years ago purely as a tactic to make Ron jealous because he really hated McLaggen."

Wait. What? Did she really hear that correctly? Bellatrix blinked once. Twice. "Yeah, that really was stupid," Bellatrix sighed, speaking honest truth. "What were you thinking?!"

"I was thinking Ron was less oblivious than he turned out to be," Hermione grimaced. "Regardless, I am now stuck with McLaggen. Worst thing yet, I at one point during the evening, stood under the mistletoe with him and he... got very forward."

"He tried to shove his tongue down your throat and stick his hand up your skirt," Bellatrix helpfully translated.

"Exactly!" Hermione's tone was one of disgust. "And he's still on about that missed kiss from two years ago! As if it was some sort of raffle prize!"

Bellatrix put her finger to her lips and thought a moment. "Hermione?" she started. "I think you need to be a bit more forceful here. Obviously he hasn't taken the hint and if he hasn't by now, he never will."

Hermione cocked her head sideways. "You think that'll help?" she asked.

"Oh, definitely!" Bellatrix smiled broadly. "Really put your foot down. Take out your wand. Hex him for good measure. Tell him you've got quite enough of his antics and don't be afraid to back it up with magic if he's still not listening!"

"Hm," Hermione rubbed her chin, but from her expression, Bellatrix could tell that her friend was very much liking this idea. "Mostly, I just want him to leave me alone. If I can achieve that by being more forceful, I will give it a try."

"It doesn't always work," Bellatrix sighed. "I try to be forceful to Lestrange, but... I don't know, it just makes things worse. Last time I got so angry I ended up duelling him. Actually disarmed him and got ready to hex him something fierce, when he just looked up and chuckled how he was going to 'tame' me when we'd be married. Turn me into a proper wife."

A shudder went through Bellatrix at the mere thought.

"Hm," said Hermione, considering her tale."How about being less forceful in your case? You're only egging him on and emboldening him. How about… being a bit more subtle. You're smart enough, use your brain a little more. Figure out how to hit him where it really hurts. That might get him to leave you alone for a while."

Bellatrix nodded, glancing up at the sky for a moment. "His pride," she whispered. "I could take him down a notch by wounding his pride. I'll have to think on how to do this."

"Well, there you go," smiled Hermione.

"Hm," replied Bellatrix. "Well, aside from the McLaggens and Lestranges of this world, do you have any other prospects?"

Hermione shook her head. "Too busy studying to really focus on boys, really. Perhaps I'm just not looking right now."

"What about girls?"

"What about them?"

Bellatrix found that a rather odd statement. She bent forward, looking into the pool to better study Hermione's expression. It surprised her that Hermione had a baffled expression on her face.

"You... you've never been with a girl?" asked Bellatrix.

"No," Hermione frowned. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, Merlin!" Bellatrix chuckled and shook her head. "Hermione, you've been missing out something fierce!"

"Have... have you?" Hermione asked, stammering the words.

"Oh yeah," Bellatrix grinned broadly. "Multiple times, in fact. Spent the latter half of my sixth year in a relationship with Evelyn Greengrass. Beautiful girl... though more woman than girl. One year above me. I had the passion, she had the fierceness. We were not friends, but… I think rivals is the best way to describe it. Yes. Rivals. For a long time, in fact, until, well, something developed. Evelyn and I had a deeply sensual relationship."

Bellatrix almost chuckled when she saw all the blood in Hermione's body rush to her head, causing her to look like a freshly cooked lobster and, oh my, did she just gulp?! Still, Bellatrix could tell that Hermione wasn't used to talking about sex and not wanting to scare off her new friend, she decided to tone it down a bit. Still, it was curious: this was 1968 with the sexual revolution in full swing. Would people become more prudish again in the future, or was this a more personal thing?

"W-where is she now?" Hermione asked.

"Married," Bellatrix shrugged. "Like me, she was funnelled into an arranged marriage immediately after graduation."

"I'm sorry," replied Hermione again.

"Don't be," Bellatrix shook her head. "We both knew it was coming. We both knew it wouldn't last forever. That made the time spent together more special. When it's finite and short, you treasure every moment. I've… lost sight of her since then."

"That makes sense, I guess," Hermione said.

"A lot of pure-blood girls have relationships with other girls at some point in their lives," said Bellatrix with a smile. "Almost all of them, in fact. It's an opportunity to be adventurous without chance of a pregnancy which can ruin a carefully cultivated blood-line. And, really, girls are just fantastic."

Hermione still blushed while she cocked her head sideways. "W-what's it like?" she asked carefully.

Bellatrix bit her lip to stop from chuckling. Though Hermione wasn't much comfortable about sex, she could tell that friend was still very curious.

"Girls are fantastic," Bellatrix closed her eyes and smiled to herself. "So soft. Imagine wrapping yourself in soft, warm velvet while relaxing at the warmth of a fire. Soft long hair sliding over your skin and gentle, nimble hands massaging your back. In my experience, Hermione, girls understand a lot better just exactly what other girls like. Much better than boys. The kisses..."

There was that gulp again.

"You should try it!" Bellatrix winked.

"I... I don't know."

"One way to get rid of McLaggen is to kiss a girl right in front of him," chuckled Bellatrix. "Just imagine the look on his face!"

"I..."

"Name the first girl that comes to mind."

"Luna?" Hermione replied, before catching herself and gasping.

"Right," said Bellatrix. "Your assignment: find this Luna and kiss her."

"I... I can't do that!" Hermione gasped.

"And why not?!" Bellatrix crossed her arms, challenging her.

Hermione gulped again. "Because... because... Luna is strange enough to actually probably be up for it!"

"And how is this a problem?!" Bellatrix raised an eyebrow.

"It... it just is!"

Bellatrix held up a hand. "I'm just teasing you, Hermione. If you're not interested in girls, that's more than fine."

Hermione was looking really uncomfortable now. "There's nothing wrong with liking girls, it's just... I... I'm not sure it's for me... No. Wait. I am sure it's not for me. Completely sure. Completely and utterly sure!"

There was just a little too much self-doubt in that statement to be any way convincing to Bellatrix, but for now she would have to stop teasing. She was clearly making her new friend uncomfortable and that was not what she had intended. Besides, she wanted to talk more and this might scare Hermione off a bit. "Tell me, Hermione," Bellatrix asked. "Do you have any siblings?"

"Hm?" Hermione replied, but judging from her expression Bellatrix could see that her friend was grateful for the change of subject. "Oh, no, I'm an only child. I must admit, I've often thought what it would be like to have a brother or a sister."

"Oh, you're missing out again," replied Bellatrix. "I have two younger sisters. Andromeda is two years younger than me and is in her fifth year. Narcissa is four years younger and in her third. We're all in Slytherin together. That fact alone makes school bearable."

"Are you and your sisters close?" Hermione asked.

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. "Are you kidding? We're the Black sisters. We have a bond that is unbreakable. We look out of each other, have each other's backs always. You need people you can trust in Slytherin and the only people in Slytherin we Blacks can trust is our own family."

"Is it really that bad in Slytherin?" Hermione frowned.

"Oh, you have no idea," Bellatrix chuckled. "Put a bunch of the most ambitious people in the wizarding world together in a small confined space and they'll eat each other alive until only the strongest survive. Well, figuratively speaking, of course, not literally. But only because literally eating each other alive would get someone into a lot of trouble."

"I had no idea things in Slytherin were that awful," Hermione frowned. "No wonder Slytherins are always mean and angry."

"Hah," Bellatrix chuckled. "It's not that awful. But then again, I am one of the strongest ones. And I do look out for my sisters always. Steer them around the bend, you see? Make sure they don't fall into the same traps I fell into when I was younger."

"You are your sisters are very close from the sound of it," said Hermione. "Have you told them about us? And the pool?"

"Nah," Bellatrix shook her head. "Andie wouldn't be able to keep her mouth shut about it and Cissy? Well, I think she might look for a way to exploit the power of the pool for her own gain. She'd have you find out next week's lottery numbers for her or some such. And, well, as close as we sisters are, sometimes I want something secret for myself, you know?"

"So I'm your secret?" Hermione laughed. "I don't know if I should be flattered or afraid. Maybe both. A question, though."

"Hm?"

"Hypothetically speaking," Hermione asked. "If one of your sisters were to do something you vehemently disagree with, would you still stand by her?"

She considered that that was a rather oddly specific question for Hermione to ask. Still, at least she wasn't doing any more boiled lobster imitations. Bellatrix settled next to the pool and thought a moment. "Yes," said Bellatrix. "Depending on what it might be, I would likely yell, kick and scream, but ultimately I would stand by my sisters, no matter what. Blood is thicker than water, Hermione, and pure-bloods know this better than most."

A rather warm smile crossed Hermione's features. "I'm so glad to hear you say that, Bellatrix."

Just then, the pool started to shimmer once more, the light slowly fading. "Oh, bother," said Hermione. "Have we already been talking for an hour?"

"Seems that way," said Bellatrix, disappointment clear on her voice. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Absolutely!" Hermione replied cheerfully just as she face started to fade and eventually morphed into Bellatrix's own reflection in the moonlight as the water of the pool turned back into regular run-of-the-mill water. Bellatrix let out a sigh and started to pack in her things to sneak back into the castle and head back to bed. Tomorrow, she would speak to her new friend again.

And she couldn't wait.


	5. Telling Time

Today could have been a very uninspiring morning at Transfiguration. Conjuring a cup of water. In a seventh year Transfiguration class? Seriously?

Bellatrix supposed such a spell could come in handy when in a pinch, but still... a seventh year class? Worst thing still, it was an embarrassment to see some of her classmates actually struggle with it. Even the pure-bloods. _Especially_ the pure-bloods. She'd known how to conjure up water since she was five! How come these louts were even struggling with this?! The quality of magic-users had really gone downhill.

Bellatrix stepped through the hallways of Hogwarts with her book-bag slung over her back. It would be time for lunch soon and thus she was making her way to the Great Hall. Her robe swished around her body as she moved with a self-satisfied step in her stride.

Though she and McGonagall had often been at odds, she found that now in her final year, McGonagall was fast becoming her favourite teacher. ' _Maybe if I actually give you something challenging to do'_ , McGonagall had told her, ' _it'll stop you from getting so bored in class you start setting your fellow students' hair on fire!'._

That was the crux of it, really. Bellatrix didn't have many challenges at Hogwarts, often got bored and started making her own jollies by being a 'troublemaker', as McGonagall put it. Of course, she didn't see herself as a troublemaker. So what if some of her schoolmates awful coupes were treated to a bolt of flame? Hair grew back, after all.

And so McGonagall was the only teacher whom had actually started giving her special assignments which were extra difficult, to keep her mind and wit occupied. Today's assignment was to take a simple log of wood and transfigure it into a mechanical clock. A _working_ mechanical clock. Basically, the challenge was to take a single, solid lump of wood and turn into into objects with many interlocking smaller moving parts made from different types of substance... and while having no idea how a mechanical clock even was supposed to work or how it would fit together. McGonagall had also smiled that surprisingly wicked smile of hers when she had also told Bellatrix that it was a timed assignment: she had a total of three hours to figure it out.

Her first few attempts had been disastrously embarrassing: she ended up with bits of wood flying everywhere as her lack of understanding of how a mechanical clock was supposed to work turned into a hampering factor.

The answer, ironically enough, was in the Muggle-studies section of the library. Bellatrix had left the class, made a rapid search through the library and managed to track down a book which included cut-out diagrams of muggle mechanical clocks. She took note of all the parts: the springs, the dials, the gears, the weights and spent two hours forming a mental map in her head of how all these components would move and fit together and applied the mathematical formulae and measurements to make sure that what she had mapped in her mind would actually be able to accurately tell the time.

Armed with that knowledge, she returned to the classroom and got to work. Her first two attempts were close, but were failures. After some adjustments, and about five minutes left before the deadline, Bellatrix quite proudly and in front of the class, managed to transform the log of wood into a beautiful, working mechanical table-cock in a wooden frame with a beautiful and shiny copper plate.

If she didn't know any better, Bellatrix thought that McGonagall had actually been impressed. The clock had been carefully placed in her book bag and she couldn't wait to tell Hermione all about it tonight.

As she was cutting through one of the smaller courtyards, she heard a bit of commotion instead. This particular courtyard was smaller and lay a bit off the more travelled areas of Hogwarts. One student seemed to be yelling and three others laughing. Curious, Bellatrix steered towards the source of the yelling and found it to be a muggle-born first year... surrounded by three seventh years. Lestrange, of course, and two of his toadies. The three of them had the first year dangling upside down in the air above a fountain and Lestrange was rather animatedly dipping his head into the water by raising and lowering his wand.

Normally, Bellatrix wouldn't have bothered with this. She'd simply have shaken her head, walked by and continued on her merry way. But this pathetic display gave her somewhat of an idea, thinking back on Hermione's words.

"What is all this then," Bellatrix approached, announcing herself.

"Ah, my future bride!" Rodolphus Lestrange replied, repeating a fact he loved to remind her of in front of his pathetic snickering hyena-like friends. "Come to see how we're punishing this mudblood? We're teaching him what happens to thieves who steal their powers."

"My my, " replied Bellatrix, crossing her arms and giving him the most mocking grin she could muster. "What a big, strong man you are! Such an effort it must be to bully an eleven-year old. And you even need two of your friends to help you."

Bellatrix put her hands together and clapped rather slowly. Rodolphus frowned while his friends, sensing the changing mood, had no idea how to respond and turned to look at each other.

"What are you playing at, Bellatrix?" Rodolphus narrowed his eyes.

"I'm not playing, but you fucking are," Bellatrix snorted. "Bullying a first year. This is how you show your superiority? This is how you show you power? By picking on someone who's clearly weaker than you and can't fight back?! Such a big, strong macho man! Do you need me to hold him for you just in case he escapes and makes a swing at you?"

"Are you a mudblood lover now?!" Rodolphus was bristling now while his friends started to snicker. Bellatrix grinned and went in for the kill.

"Hardly," she snorted. "But picking on someone weaker than you doesn't prove your strength. It only shows your own weakness. Maybe you aren't worthy of me. Maybe I should tell my father to find me someone else. Someone with more spine than you."

Rodolphus grit his teeth as his friends laughed.

"I dare you," Bellatrix interrupted. "Prove your worth to me. Prove it by trying to do what you did to to that boy to Dirk Jones instead."

Dirk Jones. Dirk was a muggle-born Welsh Hufflepuff whom she had faced off with at Quidditch plenty of times. He was their team star beater and in her seven years of playing Quidditch for the Slytherin team, she had never seen a beater slam a bludger harder than he could. He was a boy of inordinate size, earning himself the nickname 'The Welsh Mountain' and was surprisingly quick with his wand... and his fists. Even Bellatrix had to admit a grudging respect for him.

"I know," said Bellatrix, grinning. "I shall lure him here, into the open. Then, you can pounce and try to take him down and dip his head into the fountain."

Rodolphus blanched. "That... that won't be necessary."

"What?" Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. "Why not? I thought you were a big strong macho man. I thought you were a superior wizard. Surely you can take on a single mudblood. I shall go fetch him..."

Just as Bellatrix was about to turn, Rodolphus shot forward. "Wait, no!" he spoke quickly. "That won't be necessary! STOP!"

Bellatrix chuckled when she turned around. "What? You can't seriously be scared of little Dirk, now can you?"

More snickering from his friends. A snapped gaze from Lestrange shut them up for now. "What are you trying to pull, Bellatrix?"

"Pull? Me?" Bellatrix feigned innocence. "I just want to help my future husband to prove his manhood. Or don't you want to prove your superiority?"

Lestrange almost growled as his friends snickered again. "Bird has a point, Rod," sounded one of them.

Rodolphus crossed his arms and glared at her. "Well," said Rodolphus. "I don't see you aching to take down Dirk to prove your superiority."

That was a tactic Bellatrix had been prepared for: Rodolphus wouldn't be able to shift his way out of this one. "I already have!" Bellatrix giggled. "You saw me last match. I knocked him clean off his broom with his own bludger and took him straight out of the game! And need I remind you, Slytherin won that match! Afterwards, Dirk approached me and bought me a pint. If that's not recognizing and submitting to my superiority, I don't know what is."

"Yeah," said one of his other friends. "Bella is right. She doesn't have to prove a thing. Come on, man, you can take him."

Yes. He could take his _fists_. Dirk would wipe the floor with him and Lestrange knew it. The boy-child looked like a deer frozen in the woods while a hunter was approaching. There were no snappy comebacks, no smug grins, not even a hint of bravado. And his friends knew it. They snickered. They mocked. They laughed. Face now red with embarrassment, waved his hand and caused the boy to fall to the ground. The young mudblood scrambled to his feet and quickly rushed towards the door. "Thanks," he whispered to Bellatrix.

Bellatrix snapped her head towards him and gave him a death-glare. "Fuck off!" she hissed. "Don't talk to me, mudblood!"

The stricken boy, now even more confused, said nothing more and rushed into the corridor eager to be away from them all.

"As for you, Lestrange," Bellatrix mocked. "I can handle Dirk just fine. If you even balk at the thought of handling Dirk, how do you even think you can handle _me?"_

One of his friend, the greasy haired blonde, let out a big laugh. "Oh, you gonna be so whipped, mate!"

"I'm thinking he'll be spending his wedding night on the sofa," Bellatrix winked at the blonde man. "As well as practically every other day of the year."

Rodolphus' head looked like it was about to explode. He let out a frustrated grunt and rushed past her, into the corridor with his friends in tow.

Quite pleased with herself, Bellatrix continued on her way to fetch lunch at the Great Hall, walking off with a grin. Rather than simply throwing a tantrum or yelling at him, she had used her brain, found a soft spot and managed to embarrass him completely in front of his friends.

Another thing she looked forward to telling Hermione about.

* * *

Hermione sat at the writing desk of her empty dorm, just putting the finishing touch on a report for Herbology. With a flourish, she signed her name underneath the parchment, rolled it up for hand-in tomorrow and reached over to check her next assignment… only to find out all the work for the evening had been done and there was nothing more on the list.

These were the moments she dreaded. These were the moments when she'd be left alone with her thoughts as she sat there in her empty dorm room. It was only eight in the evening… far too much time left in the evening to be alone with her thoughts. She glanced around the room, regarding the empty, immaculately made beds. All unoccupied except hers. Curiously, really, as in her earlier years she had wanted nothing more than to have the dorm all to herself. Her roommates had all been noisy, messy and irritating at the time. But now that none of them had elected to return for their seventh year, empty just felt so… empty.

Deep down Hermione realized quite well that she was not… alright. Not really. Oh, she tried to hide it by throwing herself on her school work, but that didn't change the fact that she suffered from frequent nightmares to the point that there were days when she preferred not to go to sleep at all until she'd eventually collapse from exhaustion. The Dreamless Drought only went so far to block out the night terrors. There were times where she wondered if it all had meaning. The world chugged on, old prejudices still existed and nothing was really changing. What had it all been for? Why had she even bothered? Wouldn't it have been better to just give up her wand and move back into the muggle word? What if she had? Maybe she wouldn't have magic, but she'd be happy. What even was happy?

More than any of that, Hermione was lonely. Sure, she'd had made many friends during her early years, but where were they now? Deep in her heart, she knew it wasn't fair to think this way. Her friends simply had different priorities after the war: Harry and Ron wanted to be aurors. Luna wanted to travel Europe with her father. Ginny wanted to start her new life with Harry. Despite knowing all that, Hermione couldn't help but feel that she'd been abandoned.

Even Crookshanks had run away. She had left him with the Weasleys in the early days of the war and when she had come back Molly had tried to carefully and diplomatically tried to tell her that nobody had seen Crooks for over a month. Hermione let out a wry laugh: not even her own goddamn cat wanted to be anywhere near her!

Teardrops started falling onto her desk. She hadn't even noticed she had started to cry.

Hermione hated feeling like this, hated being so helpless. She let out an angry grunt and roughly shoved all her books onto the floor. They weren't helping.

Nothing was helping.

Hermione decided to grab her robe and go for a walk across the parapets to clear her head. She'd have a dreamless drought ready for bed. Funny how talking to Bellatrix had become the highlight of her day. It almost frightened her just how much she looked forward to talking to her.

After grabbing her robe, she headed out into the courtyard. This far into autumn, twilight was already setting in. A few younger students were still mulling about in the halls and the courtyards and Hermione steered around them until she climbed the stone steps leading up onto the parapet. Once there, she leaned onto the stone to watch the lake beyond.

Abandoned. Maybe that's how Bella had felt too. Forced into a loveless marriage, feeling betrayed by Andromeda and then seeing her youngest sister starting a life of her own. Maybe that's why she threw herself on her work for Voldemort, sucking in his vile ideology like an empty sponge.

But now that she had gotten to know the young woman whom she had been, Hermione was certain that she deserved better. The young Bellatrix whom had become her friend deserved so much better than the hand life had dealt her. She wanted to help her. And through helping her, help herself.

Unfortunately, her train of thought was roughly interrupted by a certain someone who leaned onto the parapet with one elbow, stood a little too close to her. Cormac McLaggen, that cheeky grin spread over his annoying face, was ready to make his move. "Interested in making some magic together? My wand is at the ready."

Hermione felt her jaw muscles tighten as the double-entendre of his awful pick-up line fully landed. At least this was a new one in his repertoire, for whatever small mercy that was.

When Hermione gave no reaction, Cormac pressed his luck. "Your smile is like Expelliarmus. Simple but disarming. Come on, Granger. You know you want to."

Feeling her hands trembling, Hermione kept her gaze towards the lake. "Fuck... off..." she muttered, taking on a rather dangerous tone of voice. Normally, Hermione wasn't someone who'd consider swearing, but perhaps Bellatrix had a point: she'd have to be a tad more forceful here.

"Harry might have been the Boy Who Lived, but you're the true cho..."

He never got to finish his sentence. Hermione whipped around with wand in hand and eyes blazing with fire. Before McLaggen could react, he was blasted off his feet and was flying off into the courtyard. With a single flick of her wand, Hermione plucked him out of the air and with further flicks, sent him rag-dolling back and forth above the courtyard with speeds that weren't healthy for the human body to endure. "ENOUGH! ENOUGH!" Hermione shouted in sheer rage. "GET IT INTO YOUR THICK SKULL THAT I'M NOT INTERESTED IN YOU, YOU DISGUSTING LITTLE CRETIN!"

McLaggen let out some pathetic screams as he was being rag-dolled. And for once, Hermione was in complete control of the situation. This time, she didn't have to rely on Ron throwing a punch on her behalf.

"NEXT TIME YOU SEE A LADY LOST IN THOUGHT!" Hermione shouted. "YOU WILL LEAVE HER THE FUCK ALONE!"

By now, she had started to attract quite a bit of attention. The younger students were flocked towards the scene and either laughing or looking on with awe. Of course, they all knew who she was, all knew what she had done in the war. Hermione Granger: destroyer of horcruxes, companion of the Boy Who Lived, war-hero and living legend.

Hermione Granger, who was now completely losing her shit and letting it all loose on Cormac McLaggen.

"YOU ARE SO FAR OUT OF MY LEAGUE IT'S NOT EVEN FUNNY!" Hermione shouted. "I'M NOT GOING TO KISS YOU BECAUSE OF SOME MISTLETOE MALARKEY TWO YEARS AGO. SO TAKE YOUR LIMP WAND, STUFF IT BACK IN YOUR TROUSERS AND NEVER TALK TO ME AGAIN!"

With that said, Hermione cancelled her spell. This, naturally, caused the forces of gravity to take hold on McLaggen and tore him down back to the ground with a little more force than looked comfortable. He lay there groaning on the ground while in the background, some fetched teachers were now running into the courtyard. While Flitwick rushed over to see how McLaggen was doing, McGonagall hurried up the stairs towards a still irate Hermione.

"Miss Granger!" she exclaimed, more out of concern than anger. "What happened? Why is mister McLaggen lying face down on the ground?"

"Well," Hermione replied, anger still soaring through her. "If he didn't want to be airborne, then maybe he shouldn't have messed with me!"

McGonagall blinked, then crossed her arms. "Miss Granger, what on Earth has gotten into you?!"

Hermione snapped her head towards McGonagall. "Maybe I should be thinking about myself a bit more than I have in the past! Maybe I should focus a bit more on the things _I_ want instead of what others want! Haven't I sacrificed enough for this damn wizarding world of yours?! IT STOPS TODAY!"

McGonagall blinked at first, but soon narrowed her eyes.

* * *

"... and then she gave me detention!" Hermione told Bellatrix as she sat besides the glowing pool in the darkness of the Forbidden Forest. "ME! Hermione _fucking_ Granger! Detention! I'm the smartest person in that whole damn castle and they know it!"

In the pool, Bellatrix let out a chuckle. "And clearly the most humble."

Hermione not catch the hint and continued on her tirade. "I'm a fucking war-hero and now I'm stuck writing 'I will not cause a fuss in the courtyard' a thousand times on a piece of parchment for seven days!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Bellatrix raised her hands. "No talking about future events, remember?"

Hermione realized her faux-pas and closed her eyes, forcing herself to calm down. "Sorry, I..."

"It's alright," Bellatrix smiled. "Regardless of the consequences, how did it make you feel?"

"Good. So good. It was liberating," Hermione smiled, her voice much calmer now. "I was holding that in for weeks and to let it just go was a complete discharge of the pent up rage."

"See? Worth it," Bellatrix winked. "You have no idea just how many pieces of parchment I've filled with the same sentence over and over. It goes by quicker if you find a tune to it."

"How did it go with you and Rodolphus?" Hermione asked. Bellatrix took a moment to recount her adventure with Lestrange and his friends and Hermione listened carefully.

"Well, sometimes letting out pent off rage isn't enough or not the right tactic. Sometimes you have to be more smart and tactical about it, I've learned. He's steaming and seething. He actually started to avoid me in the hallways! It was a sport for him to make me angry, I can see that now," replied Bellatrix. "So now I'm not playing that game anymore and he simply can't adjust to it. He's not nearly as smart as he thinks."

"Some people just live for that," Hermione said. "Picking on others, I mean."

"Oh, I meant to show you," said Bellatrix. Hermione watched in the pool as her friend was rummaging through her bag. It was a bit hard to see, but it seemed as if she was holding up some sort of contraption.

"Is that a clock?" Hermione asked.

"I've made this," smiled Bellatrix. "From a log!"

Hermione listened to Bellatrix as she told the tale of her assignment by McGonagall. How she had studied the inner workings of a muggle device and managed to emulate it magically through transfiguration. Hermione could hear the pride in her voice. Mostly, what Hermione heard, though, was the fact that Bellatrix had spent two hours doing an in depth study of a muggle device and considering that, perhaps, McGonagall had had an ulterior motive with this assignment.

"I have to admit, it is a clever little device," said Bellatrix. "I never really thought about how clocks worked until today."

"Hm, what are you going to do with it?" asked Hermione.

Bellatrix seemed lost in though for a moment, then grinned slightly. "Hold on, I have an idea," said Bellatrix. A few moments later, Bellatrix stepped away from the pool. From her vantage-point, Hermione had no idea what she was doing, but it sounded a bit like she was shifting things around. The flash of a magic spell lit up the darkness of the night for a bit and, a few seconds later, Bellatrix returned with a broad smile on her face.

"Okay, Hermione. Look to your right. Find the second root on the other side of the gnarled tree and look for the knothole."

Curious, Hermione did so. After looking around for a bit, she found a knothole the size of a small cat. When she reached inside, she felt her hand brush against a smooth static bubble of a magical preservation spell. A whispered word cancelled the spell, allowing her to reach down further until she felt something. Pulling her hand back, she was now holding the clock Bellatrix had shown her in the pool.

Though it seemed to be the design of an antique table clock, it looked and smelled completely new: a lovely wooden frame and a shiny copper plate. Hermione smiled as she wound the key and heard the mechanism inside starting to tick. All she had to do was to set the proper time and perhaps add a self-winding charm.

"You like it?" Bellatrix asked expectantly.

Hermione smiled as she regarded the clock. "It's lovely. Thank you."

"Look at the back," said Bellatrix.

Hermione turned the clock around and found a small inscription which Bellatrix apparently had made with her wand before putting the clock in the knothole. _'For Hermione from Bellatrix_ ', it read.

"Now I feel bad that I can't send you a nice gift," Hermione replied.

Bellatrix chuckled. "It's not as if you can send stuff back in time. But... well, it's, uhm... I'm just glad I have someone to talk to," she stammered softly. Apparently, this was a rather difficult admission.

Hermione wasn't sure how to respond, but was forced to when the pool started to shimmer once more. Damn, had it already been an hour? Perhaps people were right when they said that time flies when one is having fun.

"Same time tomorrow?" Hermione asked.

"Absolutely!" Bellatrix replied just as the pool's magic shimmered away. Hermione was left watching her own reflection in the pool for a few moments after Bellatrix's face had morphed into that of her own.

Then came the trek back to Hogwarts through the secret tunnel. Hermione had gotten adept at leaving and entering the castle this was surprisingly quickly. Once she was inside, she rushed through the three corridors back to her dorm room: studying common patrol routes and the prefect schedule helped a lot. As usual, she made it back to her room undetected and got ready for bed.

She'd fallen into a good pattern: go to bed early, wake up at around 2:45, sneak out of the castle to speak to Bellatrix and then be back in back around 4:15 to sleep the rest of the night.

Tonight, however, she took a little extra time with Bellatrix's gift. It was a very nice clock and quickly settled on putting it down on the nightstand near her bed. After positioning it and winding it up, she undressed and crawled into bed, turning her head to watch it after putting out the lights.

Hermione saw none of the evil in young Bellatrix which her older self would gleefully display and commit. The young she had talked to was simply a normal teenager. A troubled teenager, yes, but, really, which teenager wasn't?

Her young friend wasn't evil, she couldn't be. Hermione was completely convinced of that now. The young witch was now more determined than ever to find a way to help her. To prevent her from ruining her life.

If only she could figure out how.


	6. Morbid Times

"Today has been heaven," said Bellatrix. Hermione smiled as she leaned on the tree, having brought a pillow and a blanket. It'd been getting a bit colder as autumn was progressing. She'd thought about doing some more preparations such as making a small hutch so she could leave her pillow and blanket there so she wouldn't have to bring it along every trip. Perhaps put in an umbrella too. So far they'd been lucky not to have had rainy or windy weather.

"Oh?" Hermione asked. "He's not been giving you any more trouble?"

"Not a peep!' replied a grinning Bellatrix. "I actually caught him ducking away into another corridor when he saw me approach. Heh, if only I could make him disappear before it's time for the wedding, that would be great. But I'd definitely say that the balance of power between us has shifted. What about you and this McLaggen chap?"

"Cormac has shifted to leaving passive-aggressive notes in my books. Progress, as far as I'm concerned," Hermione shrugged.

"Whoa," replied Bellatrix. "He must be really slow in the head to think he still has a chance with you after all that."

"Well, he _was_ held back a year," said Hermione. "At least I'm out of detention for the time being. I should never have been in it in the first place."

"Eh, wear it as a badge of honour," Bellatrix chuckled. "Regardless, I had some free time to work on a new story today so I used my time productively for a change."

"Hm, Bellatrix?" said Hermione. "It occurs to me that I've never actually heard one of your stories. Would you read one to me?"

"Uhm..." a slight blush came over Bellatrix's cheeks. "It's... it's just some scribblings. Nothing special, really."

Good lord. Could it be? Could it actually be that Bellatrix was being self-conscious about something? Though she didn't quite know why, Hermione found that to be very endearing. "Come on," Hermione pressed. "You know I won't judge you."

In the pool, Bellatrix still seemed unsure of herself. "Okay," she spoke with a somewhat demure voice while rummaging through her pack. She produced a leather-bound notebook and opened it "This one I wrote a bit a ago and has been revised twice now. I call it, 'The Experiment'."

Hermione leaned against the tree while a rather demure Bellatrix got comfortable and started to read.

" _My name is Jean-Phillipe Artois, once an unspeakable and senior apparation researcher for the French Ministry of Magic. For years I have remained silent on the events which ended my career and the lives of four of my esteemed colleagues. Now, in my old age, fear and guilt have caught up with me, and I can hold my tongue no longer_ ," sounded Bellatrix. What made Hermione smile was that Bellatrix was reading the story with a thick French accent. Of course Hermione guessed she would have likely heard this type of accent daily from her own mother's voice, so it came to her naturally.

" _Back in the forties, right after the fall of Grindelwald, I was part of a joint venture between the French and English Ministry. The Grindelwald crisis had made it painfully clear that, despite our advances in magical travel, sending troops and supplies across a large distance still posed a problem for the wizarding world. Carrying cargo by flying carpet was slow and cumbersome, while the international portkey hub had a tendency to quickly become congested due to the war effort. Our focus lay on extending the range of apparation. After months of research, we had finally cracked it: our solution was as simple as it was elegant. To extend the range of the teleportation, objects were enchanted to give any teleportation spell a boost. Think of it as a magical slingshot: the enchanted items would simply push the spellcaster along, extending the range. Unlike a portkey, these items were not bound by having a set destination and we felt we were on the verge of a revolutionary discovery_."

Hm, a story about a secret government project. She supposed the concept was just as relevant in the sixties as it was in the nineties. Bellatrix had created a good setup and was building up towards the inevitable disaster. Meanwhile, now that she was certain that no mockery was coming her way, Bellatrix had gained more confidence and brought more power to her accented voice.

" _Testing facilities were built in both Calais and Dover, which is the shortest distance to travel between France and the United Kingdom and yet still comfortably out of apparation range. We set up a system with these enchanted objects, which we called Portboosters. For the next few weeks, we tested with apparating objects from Dover to Calais. At first we only had minor success with small, solid objects. Objects over a certain mass would invariably appear above the North Sea and sink to the bottom of the channel. It took months of tweaking and testing, and the mood was generally high."_

Ahah, Bellatrix had done her research too. The distance between Dover and Calais was indeed just out of apparation range.

" _We had a good working relationship with the British team. Mirrors were set up for communication and we were very talkative: those were some of the best moments of my career. We'd run experiments, discuss the results and talked about every little detail in our lives in between. Clive Conebush, the oldest member of the British team, always talked about his grandchildren. Franklin Mistle, who would be getting married soon and was waiting for the bonus payment he would get from this project so he could throw the wedding of the century. And then there was Gina Juniper. Gina, a junior unspeakable, brilliant and brazen, was excited to be on what was her very first project. I won't lie, I was utterly enamoured by her and the feeling was completely mutual. She joked that once they had figured out how to properly teleport humans with boosted apparation, I would have to take her out on a date in Paris. If only it had ever come to that..._ "

By now, Hermione had already figured out that the people she had mentioned were likely all going to die. Establishing a relationship between them and the main character would make their deaths more meaningful to the reader. Indeed, while Hermione wasn't a writer, she was definitely a reader.

" _After a month of work, we managed to bring over inanimate objects without a hitch, but the problem started when the test-rats we started to send over all arrived dead. Of course, we adjusted and while the rats arrived alive with the newer settings, they were... different. Apparated rats cowered in the corner of their cages. We didn't think much of it at the time. Apparation can be traumatic, after all, and rats lacked the mental strength to deal with the stresses. We were so focused on our success that we didn't even consider anything else. The UK team was so eager to apparate themselves over..._ "

Researchers ignoring obvious signs of 'wrongness'. She'd fallen for that trap herself in the enthusiasm of discovery.

" _And so they did. Clive went first. Through the mirror, we saw him apparate. We were all cheering, so excited. We were going to change the world._ "

Ah, here it comes.

" _The first sign that something went wrong was that it took Clive much longer to arrive than our previous test subjects. For a moment, I feared Clive had materialized above the North Sea. At first I was relieved when Clive appeared in front of me... until I took in the full brunt of the state he was in. Bloodied gashes covered all parts of his body, covering him from head to toe. The man fell to his knees, sobbing. 'We went too far!' he yelled. 'I'm so sorry! We went too far! We went too far!'_

_Something had obviously went terribly wrong. While my assistant rushed over to help Clive, I ran back to the mirror and shouted for Franklin and Gina to stay where they are. But only silence greeted me: they had already teleported and were on their way here_."

Slow dawning horror. Waiting for the inevitable to come.

" _Franklin emerged next. And mon dieu, it would have been more merciful if he hadn't. His limbs were twisted, his head was hunched forward and his torso bent sideways at an impossible angle. Franklin reached out to steady himself with one of his misshapen limbs he no longer knew how to move properly and the scream... that scream will haunt me until my death. It came out as a gurgled cry of horror with blood spurting from his mouth. He... fortunately... did not live long after that_."

Oh, body-horror. Yep, that sounded fitting for a teleportation research story.

" _Gina would come in next. My heart constricted when I felt another magical burst starting to take shape. With a crack, Gina appeared in front of me, back turned to us. At first I was relieved, of course. There were no signs of any of the slashes or mutations. But Clive... Clive started sobbing and crawled away from her in a panic. And when she turned around, I saw why._

_Whatever had rematerialized, it wasn't Gina. It was some sort of a vile creature with eyes as black as coal and an inhuman grin on her face which was too wide to be natural. My heart constricted in my chest as I knew that the young woman I had grown so attached to was no more. Whatever she was now, it simply took us all in and raised her arms. Magic exploded all around us and my memory is hazy. All I remember is the pain and the horror as the facility went down in flames. The last thing I saw before darkness took me, was whatever it was which now wore Gina's face apparating away_."

Possession by something living outside of reality, freed by the hubris of man. It was a theme as old as humanity itself.

" _I was the only survivor and spent months in recovery. Dark magic had burned away almost all the skin off my body and healing was slow and painful. Both Ministries were quick to respond. They seized all research and locked everything away in the deepest of holes. For a moment, I was afraid they would make me disappear too, but instead I was visited by a Ministry representative. I was to be given an early retirement with enough money to live comfortably for the rest of my life on the condition that I would be sworn to secrecy. Considering the state I was in, I took the offer. I still don't know why they didn't obliviate me: perhaps the Ministries would want to restart the experiment at some point, though I truly hope they won't._

_Now that I am older, I fear that the thing wearing Gina's face is still out there. I swear that sometimes, in the darkest of nights, I can see her sitting at the edge of my bed, that awful inhuman grin aimed at me. I abide this no longer. Tomorrow I will walk into the woods and never return. So heed my warning: do not go too far. I fear the thing we have unleashed upon the world._

_I fear there might be more of them, wanting to be freed._ "

"The end," Bellatrix concluded. "What do you think?"

"That was really good," said Hermione. And she meant it. Though the story didn't actually bring anything new to the table, it was well-crafted for what it was. As a horror story, it was short and too the point.

"Y-you really think so?" Bellatrix asked warily, as if she was used to people sucking up to her with empty praise. And, honestly, they probably did. Hermione offered a genuine smile and a brief nod.

"It's a well-crafted short story with a clear beginning, middle and end. It establishes relationships, has a nice build-up of suspense and has a good reason for happening. Horror works best in short bursts, I think. That's my personal opinion, though," said Hermione.

"T-thank you," came a genuinely grateful response from Bellatrix. "You're only the second person I've shown this to. McGonagall wanted to read one after my last career advice appointment. I think she actually liked it."

"Heh," Hermione chuckled. "You should talk to my father sometimes. I get the feeling him and you are going to get along fine."

"How about another one?" said Bellatrix as she leafed through the book. "My uncle Achille really liked this one and I've done a few revisions already. Hold on. I call this one 'The summoning'."

Hermione settled in again for another story. She had to admit that Bellatrix was actually quite a good storyteller. That the stories she told were her own original work was just the icing on the cake. After clearing her throat, Bellatrix started to read.

" _Filomena was a big girl. A big girl who could stay at home when her mother was out to fetch more ingredients for her experiments. And why shouldn't she? She was almost eight, after all. That was practically adult! Filomena skipped through the drawing room with a smile on her face. Her magic had awakened within her and mother would take her wand shopping soon. She couldn't wait to get her very own wand. Maybe it would be ash or beech or oak! She had spent many times lying awake dreaming about her soon to be given wand._

_When she skipped through the hallways on the way back to her own room, Filomena suddenly stopped dead in her tracks. She heard... something. It sounded like a whisper, but she couldn't quite make out what the words were. One thing was certain, though. The whispers were coming from her mother's lab._

_Now, little Filomena knew she wasn't supposed to enter her mother's lab: she'd been warned it was dangerous. Still, that had never stopped her before. She'd snuck in plenty of times and nothing ever happened to her. The lock on the door would do nothing to keep her out either, as Filomena was an enterprising young witchling. She simply lay her hand on the lock and whispered her spell. The lock on the door opened with a satisfying 'snick' and the curious little witchling pushed the door open._

_Immediately, the whispering stopped, but the source became very clear the moment Filomena entered. All the furniture in the lab had been shoved to one side and in the center of the room had been drawn large circle surrounded with arcane symbols Filomena didn't recognize as well as eight lit candles. A large book stood on a pedestal near it, but that wasn't the strangest thing little Filomena saw. The strangest thing was that in the middle of the circle stood a little girl her age._

_The little girl smiled at her, wearing a black dress while fiery red hair cascaded down her back. Something about this little girl made Filomena's hair stand on end. There was something off about her. Her eyes were... so strange. And something about the way she moved wasn't quite right, though little Filomena couldn't explain what, however._

" _Hi!" greeted the little girl._

" _Uhm, hello?" Filomena asked. "What are you doing in my mum's lab?"_

" _Your mum brought me here," said the little girl. "For you! So we can be friends."_

" _Okay..." Filomena frowned. "Why didn't mum tell me?"_

" _She wanted it to be a surprise!" smiled the odd little girl. "What's your name?"_

" _Filomena," the young witchling replied warily. "What's yours?"_

_The little girl gave her an odd grin. "You may call me Lucy."_

_By now Filomena noticed that there was something off about the girl's voice. She couldn't quite put a finger to it, but it sounded as if this little girl like Lucy was actually two people talking at once. One being a little girl, the other was... something else. Something much bigger and angrier."_

Hermione was quite enjoying the tale so far. What made it even better was that Bellatrix again did voices, using magic to change her voice into that of a little girl when speaking as Filomena and doing the rather eerie double-speak effect for 'Lucy', which really did rather creep her out. There was something decidedly unsettling about hearing the same words spoken simultaneously in the voice of a small girl and an unknown entity.

" _You shouldn't be in mum's lab," said Filomena. "It's dangerous here."_

" _Oh, I know. It's so scary!" Lucy pouted. "But I can't leave! Look!"_

_Now, for the first time, little Filomena noticed that the little girl named Lucy was fully surrounded by the circle of ash and salt. Apparently the little girl didn't dare to step near it. "Just step over it," Filomena said._

" _I can't!" the little girl sounded close to tears, sniffing loudly. It sounded quite odd in that weird double voice of hers. "Please help me. All you have to do is rub a little bit of that ash and salt away. If you help me, we could play together! We'll have ever so much fun!"_

" _I don't know," said Filomena as she studied the powdery circle, remembering her mother's words. "It could be dangerous. Mother always did warn me about not touching anything in her lab."_

" _I could give you things!" Lucy said, opening her palm and revealing a few precious gemstones. "Look. Shinies! They're yours if you help me."_

_Now, Filomena and her mother weren't very rich and she did know they could use a little bit more money. But what good was money if she accidentally exploded herself in her mother's lab? "Let's just wait for mum to come back. She'll find a way to release you."_

" _NO!" shouted the little girl, her smile turning into a snarl for the just the briefest of moments, before it softened again. "I'm scared, Filomena. I'm really scared. What if... what if I get hurt before your mum comes back? You have to help me."_

_Filomena bit her lip. "I don't know. I..."_

" _If you don't like shinies there are other things I could give you," said Lucy. "Knowledge. Power. All you have to do it rub some of that powder away with your foot. That's all! Don't you want me to be your friend? Is there nothing you want?"_

_Filomena cast her eyes downward. "All I want is for mum to be happy again," replied Filomena. "She's never been the same after dad..."_

" _Yessss," replied Lucy. "I know just the way to cheer her up. We're going to surprise her!"_

" _Like... a party?" Filomena asked. "With cake and sweets and music?"_

_That odd grin returned on Lucy's face. "Oh, yes... the sweetest of symphonies. The most precious of dirges. An anthem of agony! We will give your mum an experience like she's never had before!"_

" _I want to make mum happy!" Filomena stepped forward and slowly, but carefully, rubbed a little powder away, leaving a small opening in the circle. Lucy noticed this, and an unnatural grin formed on her little face._

" _Thank you, Filomena," spoke Lucy with a voice laden with… with… Filomena didn't quite know how to place it._

" _Come on," giggled Filomena as she turned around to walk out of the lab, happy that she could do something for her mother. "Let's get mum's party ready!"_

" _Yes," sounded Lucy, her second deeper voice now starting to drown out her little girl voice. A hand lay on Filomena's shoulder and she yelped a little when she felt nails dig into her skin with more force than a little girl should have. "Your mum is in for quite a surprise indeed."_

"The end," concluded Bellatrix

Hermione let that story sink in a bit. "Oh, that was good," said Hermione.

"You think so?" Bellatrix smiled again. "I wanted to leave the ending a bit ambiguous."

Ah, it seemed that Bellatrix had figured out that imagination could always do much worse than spelling things out. Her friend was a horror writer in the making, it seemed. "I bet it's nothing good, though. Reasonably sure who 'Lucy' is meant to be," said Hermione.

"And he's not very nice," Bellatrix chuckled and started to rummage through her pages until she found something. "Another one? This one is more of a work in progress, though. Still a bit rough and doesn't have a title yet," she said, sounding far more confident about her abilities than earlier.

"Certainly," replied Hermione.

"Okay," Bellatrix cleared her throat and started reading. " _Dorolphus was out in the Forbidden Forest at night because he's a stupid git doing dumb things."_

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Uhm, I think you have to work on his motivation a bit more."

Bellatrix shrugged. "Yeah, I wanted to get to the good stuff first, so I kinda rushed that bit. Think of it as a placeholder. I actually made him into a unicorn poacher, so let's continue from there."

" _Yes, I hunt unicorns. Don't judge me. Every part of a unicorn is used for something in this world of ours. And you want your unicorn hair as your wand core, you want your unicorn hoof grindings in your anti-headache potions, you want your unicorn steaks in your fancy restaurants and you want your unicorn horns to adorn your mantlepiece. You're as guilty as I am,"_ Bellatrix read.

Hermione nodded as Bellatrix had managed to touch on a sore subject: unicorns were rare magical creatures, but there always seemed to be enough components for everything, far more than the few unicorns bred in captivity could ever provide. There was a dark underbelly in the wizarding world and it was rarely addressed.

" _Besides... there's always demand for unicorn blood on the black market,"_ Bellatrix read on. " _Not a single bit of my catch goes to waste or remains unsold. And money is something I desperately needed. My bitch of an ex-wife, product of an arranged marriage, left me high and dry and took everything I had. I need to do this to survive! So don't you judge me!"_

That almost made Hermione laugh: Bellatrix was obviously expressing a hope and dream in her story.

" _I have my ways of catching these creatures,"_ read Bellatrix. " _It is as simple as studying their patterns, going to their favourite drinking places and simply lying in wait in the underbrush. They are skittish creatures, but if you are quiet enough, they will approach the glen without suspecting a thing. From there it's a simple killing curse and you've bagged yourself a unicorn. Then you take it home... my cellar has been outfitted to strip a unicorn bare. You start with sawing off the horn and hooves, removing the tail and mane, then draining the creature's blood... all 34 litres of it... liquid gold as far as I'm concerned. After that it's skinning the hide, processing and curing the meat. Everything can be used, from tendon to skeleton. One unicorn can bring up close to eight-thousand galleons. I'm surprised more wizards aren't doing this."_

So far this was quite bone-chilling already. Bellatrix had apparently been doing her research and was aware that there was a lively poaching trade in magical creatures and their... parts. The mental image of someone sawing up a unicorn in their cellar was disturbing enough, but realizing that this was not something Bellatrix had made up and rather something that could be happening right at this very moment meant that 'disturbing' not an inadequate description.

" _I was making my way to the new drinking place I had tracked the herd to,"_ read Bellatrix. " _When I came to a most peculiar sight. Though I was still a few yards away from the drinking place, I spotted the corpse of a unicorn ahead of me._ _At first, I cursed under my breath. The herd was skittish and whenever one of them was killed, they moved to a different part of the forest. I'd have to track them again. However, there were still things I could salvage: horn, hooves, tail, manes, bones. It meant the effort wasn't a complete loss. However, as I approached the fallen creature, I froze. I was expecting to see the telltale signs of a natural kill by a predator: a claw mark, signs of feeding and struggling. But when I got close enough, I could see that the creature had been... torn apart. Its legs had been broken, neck had been twisted and it looked as if the creature had come just short of being ripped in half."_

Bellatrix took a moment to take a sip of water from her flask before continuing. The grin on her face showed Hermione was she was quite enjoying herself, and apparently tormenting an expy of Rodolphus Lestrange was quite a bit therapeutic.

" _No predator I know of would do such a thing. At first I thought there might be a troll nearby, but those aren't exactly subtle and would have left tracks. Furthermore, the corpse was warm and the blood fresh: whatever had done this, it had done it just moments ago. Then, for the first time, I noticed the forest had gone completely and utterly quiet. The forest is_ never _quiet: from crickets to the wind blowing through the trees or the hooting of an owl, the forest was always bustling with activity. But now? It was as silent as a tomb, as if something was absorbing all the sounds nearby. Dark unnatural shadows cast down from the trees and then... I saw it. It was standing on the opposite side of the glen... I almost didn't see it as it was clouded in shadows... No. Not clouded._ One, _with the shadows. Two grey pinpricks of light almost swallowed by the darkness, staring me down. I experienced a depth of fear I had never felt before as I stood there frozen for a moment when the... whatever it was... shot towards me. I yelled and turned to run, tripping over the corpse and covering myself in its blood. I tried to get up, but I slipped in its gore. In a final act of desperation, I grabbed hold of my wand and squeezed it tightly, apparating away before it could get to me."_

Bellatrix took a moment too look up from her scroll and into the pool. By now, Hermione was picturing everything which was happening in her mind: that she was sitting in the middle of a very dark and potentially dangerous forest didn't help much either. Apparently, her expression pleased Bellatrix and she continued on with the story.

" _I should have known that escape wasn't that easy,"_ read Bellatrix. _"You might not notice it, but shadows surround us everywhere there is light. In your home, in your pub, in the streets, in the day and in the night. And it was everywhere. I am here now, in my cellar, where I always plied my trade. I tried to get away, to flee, but it was no use. Here I am now, in the dark of my cellar with a single oil lamp for company, surrounded by shadows. Everywhere I turn and look, I see those eager eyes. The shadows come closer every moment and whatever is in them hungers for their prey. But it will not get me. I will take fate in my own hands. I take hold of the noose and step on the stool. As I feel the chafe of the rough rope around my new, take swallow hard and hesitate for a moment before kicking away the stool."_

Bellatrix paused a moment. " _And that hesitation became my doom. Just then, the lamp went out and the two grey bluish eyes are upon me in an instant. An impossibly cold clawed hand grasps my head with untold force and hoists me up into the air as the noose is ripped away. I scream and I scream as I am dragged away to die in the shadows. But I don't die. I never die. I am its plaything. I am torn apart and reassembled... not always correctly. I have become a sculpture of flesh, dancing to its whims. It uses me for parts: sometimes it takes a bone, a pint of blood, or patches of skin. Could it be poaching me as I have poached the unicorns? Are these creatures, whatever they are, using human bodyparts as spell components in their world? Is my flesh the core of an unearthly wand? I do not know. I do not want to know._

_The blood of the unicorns I've slaughtered sustains me through this unlife. I hope and pray for the merciful release of death, but it never comes. I know I will spend eternity in darkness. No hope. No mercy. No release."_

"The end," said Bellatrix.

"Yikes," Hermione bit her lip, feeling the unease wash over her. "You've got a dark mind."

"Thanks, Hermie," Bellatrix winked at her. "You know just the nicest things to say to a girl."

"Hermie?" Hermione raised an eyebrow.

Bellatrix pursed her lips. "Yeah. Isn't that what friends do? They give each other nicknames, right?"

"Hermie..." the young witch nodded. "I suppose I could live with that. But don't you dare start calling me 'Mione! I hate that!"

"Fair enough," smiled Bellatrix. "What'll be your nickname for me?"

Bellatrix looked at her in anticipation, waiting for Hermione to come up with something. Hermione thought for a moment, thinking that Bellatrix had some odd ideas about friendship: they both had perfectly good names, so why not use them? Still, if this was what Bellatrix wanted, why not? "How about... Trix?" Hermione suggested.

"Trix... Trix..." Bellatrix let the name roll over her tongue and eventually gave her a rather satisfied smile. "I like it! Everyone else just calls me Bella, and I do mean everyone. I love it that you have a somewhat unique way to call me."

"Come to think," Hermione chuckled. "You're first person without a mental handicap to ever call me Hermie."

"There you go," Bellatrix raised her chin imperiously. "Unique!"

Just then, the portal started to shimmer again. The girls said their goodbyes and Hermione found herself sitting alone in the Forbidden Forest.

A very quiet, dark and foreboding forest. Hermione wasn't someone who took stock in urban legends and ghost stories, but suddenly found herself rather jumpy. Did that shadow over there next to the tree just move? What was that sound? That was not an owl! Did... did she just hear a twig snap?

"Is someone there?" Hermione called out.

No answer. Of course, there was no answer. But the forest was quieter than before. In her mind, she was being stalked by all manner of ghost, hag, troll and demon for just a moment until the logical half of her brain took over and reassured her nothing was there. She packed her belongings and returned back to the secret passage... though walking quite a bit faster than she usually did.

* * *

To say Bellatrix was over the moon was an understatement: she'd been giddy on her way back to her dorm, through the secret passage, the hallways and the dungeons. In fact, she'd been so distracted she'd almost been caught by a prefect due to be being careless and more noisy than she should have been.

But how could she _not_ be? Hermione liked her stories! Hell, she even looked scared by that last one, a work-in-progress no less!

Maybe her writings were better than she thought. Maybe she could actually be an accomplished fiction writer one day. It made her even more determined to focus on her stories: only through practice could she become better and better. There was still a smile on her face as she slipped into bed after silently undressing without waking her hapless roommates.

However, once she lay in bed, she found sleep hard to come and elation made way for concern. Once again, she lay staring either at the ceiling or at the large window looking out upon the unearthly landscape of the bottom of the lake beyond while shafts of moonlight broke the surface of the water above.

Bellatrix didn't want to know about the future and, really, she couldn't blame Hermione for accidentally letting something slip. Unfortunately, it had something rather big.

War. Somewhere in the future, there'd be a war. And Bellatrix couldn't stop thinking about the implications of that.

Though she hadn't been alive at the time, Bellatrix was certainly aware of the deep scars Grindelwald's insane crusade had left on the wizarding world and her own family. And yet another war was coming. Bellatrix once again stared at the ceiling, wondering what would happen in the future that could lead with it and who could possibly lie at the heart of it.

The young Queen Ealdwynn of Iceland came to me. She and her savage Nordic warriors had claimed Iceland, Greenland and great swaths of frozen wasteland of the Arctic as their own territory. The self-styled Frozen Queen of the North and the raids she led with her neo-viking mages had been a consistent problem for Northern Europe. Ealdwynn been yelling about expanding her territory, but, really, nobody wanted to challenge her claims to the frozen North and she'd like to think these neo-vikings weren't really big enough of a group to kick off a large scale war that would involve the UK.

The Japanese Mahou-Shogunate then? They'd been banging drums about expanding their influence through the Far East for decades now. Though that should only worry China and Korea for the most part. Even _if_ the Mahou-Shogunate would invade China, how would that affect Europe and the UK?

Warlord Yesufu Koroma, perhaps? Same as with the others, he was more of a problem for Africa and African muggles had much more to fear from him than wizards ever could.

Honestly, Bellatrix couldn't see it. Perhaps it would be someone new? Or perhaps Grindelwald would escape and would try to finish the mess he started?

Bah, speculation was useless.

Whatever would happen, that fact that a war was in the future certainly explained a lot about Hermione's mannerisms. After more than six years in Slytherin, Bellatrix had gotten to be rather adept at reading people… not even through magical means. These days, she could tell people were lying to her the moment they opened their mouths. Even with their minds shielded, small quirks in mannerisms could easily give them away.

Though Hermione was friendly and jovial for the most part, Bellatrix noticed she was almost always skittish and easily startled by loud or unexpected noises. She often looked over her shoulder and Bellatrix had noticed that Hermione would nestle herself at the pool in such a way that it would give her the widest possible view of the forest beyond, as if she was afraid that someone might sneak up on her at all times. Hermione might not even be aware she was doing this. But Bellatrix had seen it just fine.

Then there were… certain moments. Moments of lull during their conversations where Hermione's expression would become distant, and she would become lost in thought. Moments where her eyes became unfocused, as if staring miles into the distance without actually looking at anything. In that moment, Hermione became dull and lifeless, as if she were a porcelain doll sat on a shelf while gathering dust. Moments where Bellatrix would have speak up louder to yank her friend back into reality.

Bellatrix had seen that look many times before on the face of her own father.

Years before she was born, before her father was even married, he and her uncle Alphard travelled to the Americas to fight against Grindelwald, against the express wishes of their family. The both of them believed strongly that Grindelwald's mad crusade to establish wizarding rule over muggles and subsequent exposure of magic to the muggles would lead to the doom of wizards and witches everywhere.

Merlin, her father had been around Hermione's age when he went to war. He and her uncle linked up with the American branch of House Black, native Americans from Montana, to join the fight. They were there for years, waging magical guerrilla warfare on Grindelwald's many followers.

Bellatrix remembered one particular night back home, she must have been something like eight or nine years old at the time. She'd been roaming the house in the dead of night as she often did when she couldn't sleep. Usually the house was quiet and Bellatrix would either slip into the library to pass the time or try to raid some sugary snacks from the kitchen. That night, she came upon her father. He was simply sat on the sofa in one of the sitting rooms, simply staring into the fireplace and the roaring fire beyond.

Bearing that same distant look on his face Hermione often had.

Her father wasn't angry with her. Even as young as Bellatrix was, she realized that whatever was happening with her father was very serious. The cuddle she offered had been very much welcomed, in fact.

Her father never liked talking about the war or the darker things that happened. Still, his memories of the war was an odd mix of good and bad. As much as he hated to talk about the fighting itself, he loved to talk about other things that happened when in the right mood: stories of camaraderie, stories of the American Blacks or the time he and her uncle's had a frightening encounter with skinwalkers on the Blackfoot reservation grounds while on leave back in Montana. Or cursing her other uncle Orion's short-sightedness for breaking off all ties with their American cousins.

At the end of that long night, she had made a promise to her father: fight for what you believe in, fight for family and loved ones, but never fight someone else's battles.

It was a promise Bellatrix intended to keep.

And so Hermione returned to her thoughts. Hermione had been through a war. Had it been her choice? Had it been forced upon her? Did that even matter?

Some quick math in her head and Bellatrix calculated that she'd be in the tail-end of her forties in 1998. It was no point worrying about cause and effect: whatever would happen that would cause that future war, it would happen whether she'd want it to happen or not. She shouldn't be worried about it and she'd only have to wait to learn more and have it happen on her own.

So there was no reason to lie awake and worry about it. Right?

Bellatrix continued to stare at the ceiling until it was time for breakfast the next morning.


	7. Faux Pas

Autumn break was coming up. The weather was changing and the nights were getting noticeably colder by the day. This particular night, Hermione had decided to wear a thicker jacket, had covered her legs with a blanket and had brought a thermos-flask with hot tea. She had just poured herself a cup while Bellatrix was talking about the upcoming autumn break for the both of them.

"You're not staying at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked. Though students would be allowed to stay at Hogwarts over autumn break, few actually did. Both she and Bellatrix would be going home and though she would love to see her parents again, she would miss talking to Bellatrix. And judging by Bellatrix' expression, the feeling was absolutely mutual.

"No," Bellatrix let out a sigh. "Going back to the manor. Normally I'd love to spend some time with my sisters, but my parents have other plans. Wedding rehearsals! Fucking wedding rehearsals!"

Bellatrix crossed her arms, looking much like the angry pouting teenager she, well, currently was. Hermione supposed she couldn't really blame her. "But your wedding is a year away."

"10 months and 17 days," Bellatrix muttered, sighing the words as if she was reading the time off some sort of death clock. "And then my happy life comes to a close."

Dramatic, perhaps, but for Bellatrix that was true.

"Tell you what," said Bellatrix, her expression a devious one. "We could use this to our advantage, though. When maman came over from France, she took grand-père's entire library of esoteric magical works with her. It's all at the manor, mostly for display sadly. But if there is some knowledge out there on what this pool actually is, it will be in one of my grand-père's books. I am sure of it!"

Hermione nodded. The past two weeks the both of them had been looking at the school library trying to do some research on the pool they had found, but unfortunately turned up empty handed in both their time lines. She supposed the library at Hogwarts had texts on a lot of different subjects, but disappointingly little focus on specialized magical research, something the Black family library was supposed to have in abundance.

"I'd love to see that library one day," said Hermione. "You've certainly been piquing my curiosity with it."

"Biggest collection on esoteric magic, dark and otherwise, this side of the continent," Bellatrix smiled. "And it's put on display. Grand-père would turn around in his grave if he knew. What about you?"

"Just going home," replied Hermione, her gaze drifting upon. "I haven't been home for a long time. I... I regret not spending more time with my parents the past seven years. There was always something else to do, never enough time for the simple things, you know?"

"I get that," replied Bellatrix. "It's easy to get caught up in school work or projects or whatever. Makes you forget about the simple things."

"That's why I'm spending the entire week with them," Hermione smiled to herself, her thoughts drifting away. She had always put her family on a second place and had done so for too long a time. No longer. Her parents deserved better. She deserved better. "Just... simple things. Family dinner. A night of theatre. Or just staying in and having a pizza and having the worries of the world just slide off your back. Like old times."

"Hm, sounds nice."

"There's already so much of my magical life they can't be a part of," Hermione sighed wistfully. "I don't want us to drift apart more than we've already have."

Bellatrix remained silent for a bit, giving her an odd look. "Wait," she asked carefully. "What do you mean?"

"Hm?" Hermione looked down at the pool to see Bellatrix giving her a scrutinizing glare.

"Why can't they be part of your magical life?" Bellatrix narrowed her eyes now. Hermione froze. She'd just made a bit of a faux-pas and hadn't even realized she was making it. She kept her expression as neutral as possible and looked at Bellatrix, thinking of some what she might salvage the situation.

"Your parents are muggles," followed the accusing statement. "You're... you're a mudblood!"

Ah.

There it was.

And Bellatrix had figured it out within seconds from a single faux-pas. Hermione should have figured. Hermione hadn't been quick-witted enough to find a way to turn this situation enough. Bellatrix was clever, after all, and her mind worked fast. By the time Hermione was still trying to think of a response, Bellatrix had read her expression, weighed her choice of words and had already come to a singular, damning conclusion.

In a way, Hermione knew it would be coming at some point, but the anger and indignation in Bellatrix's once so gentle face told Hermione everything she needed to know. Her expression reminded her of her older self: that angry self-indulgent glare. The face, though younger, of the woman whom had tortured her. Flashes of being thrown onto the ground at Malfoy Manor shot through her mind, causing her to square her jaw to try to push those memories down again.

Bellatrix' breath quickened, her jaw squared, her voice was low when she next addressed Hermione. "Why didn't you tell me you are a mudblood?!"

Hermione felt anger soar through her very being. With gritted teeth and voice laced with poison, she replied. "You never asked."

Bellatrix' eyes were still narrowed, while a torrent of emotions shot across her face: anger, sadness, shock... but one stood out: the way Bellatrix looked at her screamed of one thing. Betrayal.

That was the worst one of all.

Seemingly at a loss for words, Bellatrix was staring her down through the pool. For a moment, Hermione felt as if she was being carefully studied. Still, she'd had plenty of sadness of her own at this moment.

"I should have known all of this was pointless," Hermione spoke softly, gathering her blanket and her flask, sad and angry for having wasted her time on a fruitless effort. "It always comes back to blood purity, doesn't it? After all we've shared, after all the talks we've had this stupid blood purity thing still outweighs it all. I really thought we could be friends. I had hoped... No. I'll waste no more words on you. I'm done," she said while getting up. Bellatrix gave her an incredulous look on the mirror end of the pool.

"You know what? I feel sorry for you," Hermione hissed through clenched teeth before stomping away towards the edge of the forest.

"Hermie!" sounded from the pool behind her. "Please! I didn't mean it! Please come back!"

Hermione wasn't swayed. With grim determination, she kept walking away.

"I'M SORRY!"

That made Hermione stop dead in her tracks. Had she heard that correctly? Slowly, Hermione turned around and looked towards the pool. During her chats, she had gotten to know Bellatrix quite well. She had become a friend yes, was often jovial and funny. But also prideful and arrogant. To hear those words from _her_ mouth, of all people.

And then there was the way she said it. From her position, Hermione could only see the pool from an angle, meaning Bellatrix wouldn't be able to see her either. She stood there for a moment, wondering what to do.

"I'm sorry," sounded from the pool again, softer this time. Laced with… was that regret? Goodness, was Bellatrix... crying?

"Come back... please come back... I didn't mean it... Please... come back..."

She _was_ crying! Hermione could hear it clearly. Slowly and silently, she approached the pool. When she looked into it, she saw a genuinely upset Bellatrix, her eyes downcast while tears ran over her cheeks. This surprised her more than anything.

"Trix?" Hermione asked softly.

Bellatrix' head snapped upwards, peering into the pool so close to the water that Hermione feared Bellatrix was about to tumble forward right into it. Through her tears, she let out a broad and happy smile. "You... you came back..." she stammered.

Still, Hermione wouldn't let her off the hook just yet. "How would you feel," started Hermione, her voice soft. "If you were constantly being judged for something that was never your choice and is something you could never change?"

Bellatrix sniffed and lowered her gaze slightly, letting Hermione's words sink in a little. "Pretty shit," was her soft-spoken response.

Hermione let out a sigh, sitting down at the pool again while pulling her blanket over her legs. "You pure-bloods have it so easy, you know. You have everything in spades and everybody just assumes you're better because of your blood status. You don't even realize what kind of privilege you enjoy."

"Oh?" sounded from the pool. Hermione looked down again to see Bellatrix drying her tears, looking back at her, eyes shining with renewed intensity. "You think pure-blood life is easy?! To have to give up your hopes and dreams for the sake of some sort of abstract ideal? The pressures put on you? Wealth isn't everything. I'd give it all up if it meant I could forge my own path. And you know what's even worse? It's the loneliness. I don't have any friends! I never know when someone is genuine or is looking to use me as a tool to further their own goals or position. If I didn't have my sisters I would have gone absolutely bonkers by now!"

"I..." Hermione stammered, but falling silent again.

"So besides not being able to fully trust anyone, I'm forced to marry a man I detest! All that so called privilege comes with a lot of strings attached!" Bellatrix bristled. "So yeah, you may assume that I'm generally quite aware of the things that are happening around me, Hermie! Or haven't you been paying attention during our heart-to-hearts?!"

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. This time, it was her turn to feel like a heel. Assumptions were dangerous and this was once again proved. "You're right. I'm sorry too, Trix."

Silence took hold for a bit. All they could hear were the sounds of the forest at night. Crickets. Nightbirds. The wind in the trees.

In the pool, Bellatrix nodded in acceptance. Hermione did the same.

Bellatrix lowered her gaze, looked up again and smiled briefly. "I don't think you're inferior, Hermione."

Hermione accepted that with a nod. "And I don't think you're a privileged bitch."

Bellatrix snorted. "Well, you're half right."

"Which half?"

"You decide."

Both girls shared a brief laugh. And there it was. The miracle of mutual understanding.

"Hermie? Can we get past this?"

Bellatrix' voice was soft. Apologetic. Hopeful. Even a little bit scared. Funny how all the arrogance and self-assuredness had simply fled her at this moment.

Hermione closed her eyes and smiled. The fact that Bellatrix had even asked this question told her just how wrong Hermione had been to write her off immediately. Friends could have arguments and still be friends afterwards. Friends could and should forgive each other. So Hermione gave her friend the only answer she could.

"Of course we can, Trix."

Bellatrix let out what could only be described as a sigh or relief just as the magic of the pool started to fade. At least it has left them enough time to properly exchange their apologies.

"Right," smiled Bellatrix. "I'll see you next week, Hermie. Hopefully, with some knowledge of this pool. Have fun with your family, Hermie."

"And you with yours, Trix," said Hermione. "Until next week."

After the magic had faded and Bellatrix's visage had morphed into her own reflection, Hermione gathered her belongings and strode towards the edge of the clearing, this time with hope renewed.

Bellatrix was not beyond saving.

That fact alone made Hermione have a smile on her face all the way back to the castle, only to fade once sleep claimed her back in her bed.

* * *

Bellatrix suppressed a yawn as she stood on the platform waiting for the Hogwarts Express to arrive. She and her sisters would soon travel and take the stop at Leeds where they would take the portkey back to Manchester where their ancestral home stood proudly. Bellatrix had been glad to toss her uniform and exchange it for a stylish black knee-high dress, warm cloak and matching floppy pointed hat. She would have liked to have worn a mini-skirt, but her parents wouldn't approve as it would be too muggle. Best to avoid conflict for now.

Besides, it was a bit too cold to be out with bare legs.

She checked the clock above the platform, only to sigh when she realizes that her sisters were late, as per usual. That left her alone with her thoughts as other students were starting to gather on the platform with her. With her reputation, nobody really dared to approach her and that suited her fine at the moment.

Bellatrix considered she had spent plenty of time with her thoughts already, since she hadn't caught a wink of sleep this night. Her mind was too busy thinking. Of Hermione.

The plucky young dark witch was the first one to admit that she had led a somewhat sheltered existence. During family meetings, it was often her uncle Orion, the head of House Black, who would hold bombastic orations that that mudbloods were the lowest of the low. Thieves who stole their magic. Unintelligent, drooling fiends who had no semblance of manners, good breeding or redeeming qualities and would stab you in the back and steal your magic as you lay bleeding. The Blacks would stem the tides, would keep the Barbarians out of the gates and would preserve wizarding purity for generations to come.

Uncle Orion had a way with words. And a way with family members who didn't agree with those words. So naturally, Bellatrix had attempted to avoid all association with mudbloods. To do so was to invite death and betrayal. Just like she had been taught.

And that was the thing. She had spoken at length with Hermione before finding out she was a mudblood and found that she was a perfectly normal girl. Well, not exactly normal, that would be an insult: Hermione was intelligent, witty, knowledgeable and polite. She had listened to her stories and had given her honest feedback. Their conversations were things Bellatrix looked forward to every day. Hermione was nothing a mudblood was supposed to be. She wasn't a thief. She wasn't a liar. She wasn't a traitor.

Hermione was her friend. The only real friend she'd ever had.

It had made her think. Dirk, that mountain of a boy, had been her main rival at Quidditch for years. A mudblood, yes, but thinking back he had always treated her with respect and joviality. Bellatrix then glanced over to a pair of students waiting for the train. Three sisters, actually, known mudbloods. The dark-haired witch watched the three of them for a moment. They were joking, messing about, chatting, smiling, laughing. They were eager to go home to see their families again. Just like herself and her own sisters.

These were... three normal girls.

How come she had never even seen this before? Had she simply never bothered to look?

Mudbloods... being not so different than pure-bloods. The very thought alone was anathema. Heretical, even. But she couldn't deny what was right in front of her. She couldn't deny the truth that her friend Hermione was... just a normal witch like any other.

A terrifying thought came over her: if this one thing she had been taught was false, then what would that mean for all the _other_ things she'd been taught? What if those were false too?

She felt her breath quicken and swallowed hard. What was true and what was false? She simply didn't know what to believe anymore. Bellatrix tried to calm herself, trying to keep her heretical thoughts from overwhelming her, when something heavy suddenly jumped on her back.

Startled, Bellatrix shot forward, only to realize that Cissy had jumped her and was now giggling while she was riding her back. Bellatrix cursed and tried to throw her off: carrying her worked fine when Cissy was eight and tiny, not now that she was thirteen and a lot bigger and heavier.

Andromeda stood by the side and laughed a bit. "You were miles away, Bella!"

"That no invitation to jump on my back!" Bellatrix challenged while Cissy's feet found the ground again.

"That's no invitation to _not_ jump on your back either," Cissy giggled.

"Come on," said Andromeda as the Hogwarts Express stopped at the station. "Let's board."

The Black sisters boarded the train and quickly claimed a compartment in one of the front cars for just the three of them. The girls folded out the table and set out their prepared snacks, sweets and games they had prepared for the three hour trip. All three of them used their wands to float their hand-luggage to the racks above and settled on the leather seating.

While Bellatrix was eyeing a rather delicious looking bag of Fiery Black Pepper Imps, she noticed Cissy had her face pressed against the windows. "Look at them," Cissy muttered. "Bunch of mudbloods looking gormless. You can just see the drool gathering in pools on the ground."

From her position, Bellatrix could see that Cissy was looking at the three sisters she had witnessed earlier. And then she noticed something else which she never had before: the people passing their compartment in the corridor were all pure-bloods. People she knew for a fact weren't there waiting on the platform when the train arrived. Meanwhile, the half-bloods and the mudbloods which had been there waiting alongside her were still stood on the platform. She could clearly see Dirk towering above the rest beyond the window.

She realized they were letting the pure-bloods board first. Something she simply never noticed before.

It was then that Cissy blew a raspberry at the three mudblood sisters.

"Cissy, don't do that," Bellatrix admonished, almost automatically. It left her to wonder why she had reacted so strongly.

Cissy turned her head around and gave her elder sister an odd look, while Andromeda laughed. "Yeah," Andie jumped in. "Don't gob all over the window! I'd rather not stare at your spit all the way to Leeds."

Cissy made a face while Bellatrix was grateful for the distraction. It didn't take long before the train started to move. Bellatrix was mostly deep in thought during the first leg of the trip, left to ponder unless addressed. At first, her sisters didn't seem to notice much as Cissy was raving about her boyfriend Lucius, while Andie mostly bragged about her high marks in potion class.

"Hey," said Andie while laying a hand on her shoulder and shaking her a bit. "You've been awfully quiet, Bella. That's not like you."

"Yeah," said Cissy. "I'd expected at least one macabre tale by now."

Bellatrix forced a brief smile. "I've just... got a lot on my mind, that's all."

Andie and Cissy shared a look. "The wedding stuff?" Cissy asked.

Bellatrix thought a moment. That would do. "Yes, among other things," Bellatrix pursed her lips and ran a hand through her curly hair.

Cissy scooted over and grabbed her by the hand. "Hey," she spoke softly. "It's not all going to be wedding stuff. We're going to have some fun together."

"Just the three of us," said Andie. "Why don't we go camping together? Spend the night out in the tent and just enjoy the quiet of the night."

Bellatrix smiled briefly, but was still conflicted. Once she had felt like she could share everything with her sisters, talk to them about everything. They'd been there for her when she'd been told about her upcoming wedding. She had cried and screamed and cursed and wept... and her sisters were there for her to listen, to hug and to console.

But to tell them about this? About her... _doubts?_ About Hermione? No. She couldn't. She wouldn't. Bellatrix simply didn't dare. How would they even react?

As much as it pained her, it was for the best to keep the secrets for now. And so she did.

Bellatrix simply sat next to the window while her sisters carried on about their next topic, while she stared out across the passing countryside and found her thoughts wandering towards Hermione.


	8. Homecoming

After an uneventful train-ride, the Black sisters finally arrived at their ancestral home situated in Greater Manchester: Catterborough Woodhouse. Though the name was a bit of a misnomer, as it was a neo-classical English country house consisting of a large three story central building and two sprawling two story wings on either side. Surrounding it were rolling hills and endless lawns. This was the home where Bellatrix and both her sisters had been born and had grown up in.

It was the home and seat of power for the Manchester Blacks, her branch of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, and one of the largest private residences in all of Europe. Her family's fortune was based on the ownership of land and property, as well as significant investments in a myriad of businesses, not to mention a lot of old money. Old money responsible for her very lavish and wealthy upbringing: what kid could claim that they had their own zoo attached to their home, after all?

It was very much a generational household, it always having been home to parents, grandparents, children and close relatives, as well as a small army of servants. Sadly, both sets of their grandparents were no longer alive, but her oncle Achille, her mother's brother, had moved into their home as the both of them had come as a package deal. She made a mental note to pay her uncle a visit later.

What did irk her was that she could see party tents having been erected right next to the large indoor botanical garden at the very end of the east wing. Unfortunately, Bellatrix was set to be married at the manor too which also meant Lestrange would be moving in. Something which would forever taint this wonderful place in her eyes.

She didn't want to think about it. Not now, at least.

She and her sisters shared a pleasant look: homecoming was always wonderful for all of them. Broad grins were exchanged and it didn't need to be said that they would race to the steps and the large double doors leading into the entrance hall. Giggling, the three girls dropped their luggage and shot forward, their shoes gripping into the gravelled path and kicking small stones back as they ran.

Andie won the race today and promptly knocked over Sebastian, the family butler whom had opened the door on their approach. As Andie was wont to do, she profusely apologized while Bellatrix and Narcissa had a laugh at her expense. Sebastian himself had been part of their household since before she'd been born. A thin, clean-shaven wizard with greying hair and a perpetual serious expression to his face, he was clad in the traditional black attire butlers were known for. After all, her mother distrusted house-elves and preferred to hire wizarding staff who lived with them in the sizable servant quarters of the house. As far as Bellatrix was concerned, Sebastian had been part of the family in his own way: whenever she had been playing in the garden and scraped her knees, he had been there to heal them. Whenever she had lost something precious, he had been there to help her find it.

"Well," said Sebastian after picking himself up. "With the misses Black back at the house, the manor is bound to become lively again."

Sebastian took care of their luggage as the three girls walked into the cavernous entrance hall lined with marble columns and a double staircase in the back. Bellatrix closed her eyes and took in the pleasant smell of the home she'd grown up in. Despite everything, it was so good to be here again.

"My young ladies," Sebastian called after the three girls as they went up the stairs. "Your mother wishes to see you in the south parlour before you head to your rooms."

The parlour was actually located on the third floor of the central building and it took the girls a few moments actually get there, passing through the upper corridors until they arrived at a luxurious parlour. As with always the case in her ancestral home, the room had a high ceiling and was well-lit through tall and broad windows. Paintings of family members of the distant past hung from the wall, while expensive antique furniture adorned the room. One the velvet settee sat their mother, a petite raven-haired woman with heavily lidded eyes. It was always said that Bellatrix and Andie took after their mother, while Cissy had far more resemblance to their father.

Her mother's mouth curved into a smile, accentuated by her curly hair, the moment she saw her children. "Oh!" she sighed. "Mes belle enfants! I 'ave missed you so!"

Druella Black had always been a caring mother and quickly took her children in a four-way hug. The four of them chatted a bit in the parlour, mostly talking about mundane things such as school, the trip home and what had been happening in the manor. Honestly Bellatrix didn't really care which servant had broken which plate and she found her mind wandering. In her mind, she was already figuring out what that magic pool actually was until she was starkly reminded why she was here when she saw the top of one of the tents through the window. Rodolphus' disgusting little face floated through her mind and ruined whatever good mood she had left. Funnily enough, thoughts of Hermione came to her as well, almost to relieve her of the horrors. She wanted to talk to her again so badly already and it hadn't even been a full day.

By now, Andromeda and Cissy excused themselves to had back to the East wing where their rooms were, but Bellatrix remained seated, lost in thought.

Her mother sat next to her, a hand tapping her on the knee. "Is something wrong, chouchou?" asked Druella. "Are you worried about your grande jour, perhaps?"

Grande jour. What a fucking joke.

"Something like that," Bellatrix muttered.

"Ah, don't be worried, chouchou," said Druella, running a hand through her curly hair. "I'm certain everything will go just swell. It's why we have re'earsals, non? My girls are growing up. Time goes by so fast."

Bellatrix felt the walls coming in at her at that moment, but she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. "Maman?" asked Bellatrix. "May I take a look through grand-père's collection in the library? I'm looking for something specific for a... school project."

Grand-père Rosier was a world-renowned unspeakable who amassed a massive library on the history of magic in its many forms. Bellatrix was reasonably sure that if any knowledge on the magic pools existed, grand-père would have knowledge of it in his sizable collection.

"Oh, my studious girl," smiled Druella. "I thought you'd 'ave quite enough of dusty books. Just don't forget to 'ave fun with your sisters, non?"

"Like my sisters would let me forget," Bellatrix chuckled. "They want to go camping."

"On the lawn?" Druella smiled. "Like when you were small, yes? Even though you pitched your tent only ten meters away from the front door, your father was so worried 'e stayed up all night to make sure you three were safe."

"I remember," Bellatrix laughed. "The same loving father who's now selling me to the Lestranges."

Druella squeezed her shoulder slightly. "Don't say that, chouchou. We only want the best for you."

"Why don't I get a say in that?!" Bellatrix bristled, but quickly calmed down. Mother was not at fault here. "I'm sorry, maman. It's... it's been a long trip."

"Why don't you get some rest, chouchou?" her mother patted her knee. "It'll be a long day tomorrow."

"Is father in?" Bellatrix asked.

"Your father will be back from London tomorrow morning," said her mother. "He'll be cutting 'is business trip short to be able to be with the three of you tomorrow. Dinner will be in an 'our. Why don't you get some rest, hm?"

Bellatrix nodded and got up from her chair. After saying goodbye to her mother, Bellatrix made her way to her room on the other side of the estate.

* * *

Hermione couldn't help but smile when she had stepped off the bus and walked the streets of Hampstead Heath. Sure, she could have taken the portkey to the park and taken it from there, but there was something deeply cathartic about looking out the window of the bus and seeing familiar places loom in the distance.

Especially when it was the rather nice upper class and leafy part of London and the neighbourhood she'd grown up in.

After a rather uneventful trip of reading all the way down from Scotland to King's Cross on the Hogwarts Express, Hermione decided to take a scenic route stroll through the neighbourhood under the pleasant afternoon sky. It might be getting colder, but there was thankfully no rain. She passed the park she had played in while growing up, the streets she had travelled on the way to her old primary school, the benches where she used to sit outside reading in the summer.

Times seemed so much simpler back then.

She stopped at the corner of her street. Her home was already in sight. It was a very pleasant detached home, small for the area perhaps, but it was a home she still loved to this day. After restoring her parents' memories, it had been a bit of a chore to get everything back in order: she had left the home and its furniture completely intact, but had transferred ownership to a fictitious person and it had been a bit of a bureaucratic nightmare to transfer ownership back. Hermione chuckled which thinking back to this summer: dealing with London municipalities was a good argument in favour of legalizing the imperius curse. In the end, it seemed as if her parents had never even left.

Hermione was stood at the garden gate, regarding the bay windows of their living room and the master bedroom upstairs. Hermione's own room was right above the front door, the single window giving the permanently darkened interior a cozy atmosphere. The young witch closed her eyes, her heart constricting with regret. She had missed so many moments with her parents... all the holidays she had spent studying at school or at the Burrow or simply being on the run. She could count the weeks she had actually spent with her parents the past few years on one hand.

So much time lost. And for what? She told herself it'd been important: for her education, for her friends, for the war. But had it really been? Had her many sacrifices meant anything in the end?

After taking a few deep breaths, Hermione stepped onto the garden path feeling the gravel shift underneath her feet. A few seconds later, she raised a hand to the doorbell to ring it, finding it rather funny that she didn't even have the key to her own childhood home.

She waited a bit until the front door opened and was confronted with the rather shocked expression of her mother. Emma Granger took one look at her and gasped. "H-hermione!"

Hermione smiled. "Hi, mum," she said. Of course, her parents weren't aware that she'd be coming. "May I come in?"

"It's your house too," her mother laughed and embraced her. Hermione closed her eyes and simply enjoyed the moment.

"No studying," replied Hermione. "No magic, no war and no worries. Just the three of us for a week, just like it used to be."

"Jack!" Emma called over her shoulder into the house. "Look who's here!"

A few moments later, her father, a lanky man looking rather bemused with his paper still in is hand, emerged from the living room. The moment he saw Hermione, he dropped his paper and rushed forward. "Puppet!" he exclaimed and was next in turn to embrace her, even more tightly than her mother had. "This is a nice surprise!"

"Hi dad," Hermione smiled. "Mind if I stay here for a week?"

"Mind?!" her father laughed. "Puppet, I might never let you leave again!"

And so Hermione found herself in the living room having a rather animated conversation with her parents. It almost felt like old times again. Almost.

For one week, Hermione could forget all about the vagaries of the wizarding world and all its troubles. Everything could be set aside and she could feel as if she'd be back in easier, simpler times again. And maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't be plagued by nightmares or shades of regret and pain.

Maybe she could feel like the old Hermione again. Just for a moment.

* * *

After spending some hours after dinner chin-wagging with her sisters, Bellatrix felt it was time to retire to her bedroom. The three sisters had their own space in the east wing: a spacious common room where all three of them could relax and work which gave access to three private bedrooms. As the eldest sister, Bellatrix had the privilege of having the corner room. High ceilings and tall windows, just like the rest of the estate, the center of a room held a gigantic four poster bed. On the bed lay a small army of animal plushies.

Bellatrix kicked off her boots and let herself fall forward onto the softest mattress. So much softer than that awful bed in her dorm back at Hogwarts. Still, she had done plenty to make this room her own: bookcases lined the wall and wherever was not a bookcase, there were posters of famous witches past. Quidditch players, pioneers, ancestors. Witches whom had made their mark on the world.

On a prominent place in her room, right above the huge fireplace opposite to her bed, hung a framed poster of Eleanore Snowbell, her childhood hero. Eleanore Snowbell was an explorer, adventurer and sometimes monster hunter. The poster itself was from an exhibition about her life and works at the Museum of Magical History a few years back: an exhibition she had begged her mother to bring her to.

Not to mention that she'd had an enormous crush on her during her early teen years,

To Bellatrix, Eleanore Snowbell embodied everything a witch should be: accomplished and daring, magically gifted and adventurous, fiendishly clever and delightfully witty. She had so enjoyed reading about Eleanore's travels and many adventures all over the world. When she'd been younger, she'd wanted to follow in her footsteps: become an explorer, an adventurer and perhaps a monster hunter.

Bellatrix pursed her lips.

That wouldn't be happening.

Bellatrix let out an annoyed grunt and rolled to her back, letting her tiredness wash over her. She'd have to get up and undress, wash up and brush her teeth at the private bathroom attached to her room. But perhaps she wouldn't care and would sleep in her clothes tonight.

She glanced over the glass display case near her bed: it was piling out with the porcelain dragon figurines she collected in her childhood. A smile crossed her features when she remembered once enchanting all of them to move and fly. One of them even breathed fire, as evidenced from the slight scorch mark still visible on the carpet. She'd promised herself she'd continue collecting after her Hogwarts years.

Perhaps that was yet another thing she would never finish.

This wasn't going to well: she'd longed to enjoy going home to get away from it all for a bit and all it did was to remind her of the impending doom hanging over her head. Perhaps she should just go to bed early today.

One thing, however, was foremost on her mind and for once it was not Lestrange or the wedding.

More than anything else, Bellatrix wondered what Hermione was doing right now.

* * *

Hermione had spent a lovely evening with her parents. Just chatting and catching up. It had felt... good. In fact, she'd felt better than she'd had in a while. It was good to get away from the wizarding world for a bit, she figured.

Since skipping the brushing of the teeth was considered anathema to a point of heresy in this house, Hermione had spent some time in the bathroom getting ready for bed. After changing into her fluffy pyjamas, she made her way to her old room. And such a relief and joy it was to step inside of it. Unlike her lonely dorm, this room quite literally felt like home.

Funny. It seemed bigger before she'd left for Hogwarts.

The room was cozy and welcoming beyond measure. It only had a single window and thus was quite pleasantly dark on all hours of the day no matter the weather outside. Underneath the window was a well loved writing desk and on opposite sides of the wall were bookcases, all piling out. On top of her bookcases were displayed several fairy figurines from her 'fairy-phase'. Next to a bed was a corner book-case of about waist-height which doubled as a display for photographs. Pictures and paintings of flowers hung from the few free spaces of wall. The entire room was immaculately organized aside from a single messy pinboard.

Hermione chuckled as she picked up Pete, a ratty old bear with button eyes which was almost as old as she was. Pete had been given a prominent place of honour among her photographs, but today she would take Pete to bed like she had always done in her younger years. Hermione decided it was silly to be embarrassed about it and would place Pete where he belonged: on her pillow.

The bed itself was a small but wonderfully soft single bed she was almost too tall for at this point, but the duvet welcomed her as if she were an old friend. With Pete clutched to her chest, she lay on her side and enjoyed the familiar surroundings of home with her parents near.

Complete safety.

So why was she crying?

Hermione hadn't even noticed she was crying at first. It had just started. Just like all the other times it had happened when she had gone to bed at Hogwarts at her lonely and cold dorm room. Her body shook as tears kept coming and coming.

Even here. Even at home.

"Why the fuck am I crying?!" Hermione hissed to herself, partly angry, partly sad.

Was there no place left where she could feel safe? Was there no place left where she could feel herself?

Would she ever feel better?

Still sniffing, she clutched Pete to her chest and had a single thought pop in her mind: she wondered how Bellatrix was doing and hoped she was coping with the wedding rehearsals well enough. Talking to Bellatrix, oddly, had become on the highlights of her day: something she always looked forward to.

Curious. She'd stopped crying.

* * *

Bellatrix had quickly decided that wedding rehearsals were a complete pain. A wizarding wedding, especially a pure-blood one, was an affair of customs, charms, protocol and precision. There were tons of phrases, rituals and even moves for her to remember, as well as the correct order to do everything in. The wedding guests, and there would be many, would be ranked by relationship for their family and every rank had a different set of rules for treatment attached to them. Now, being the perfectionist Bellatrix was, she would learn it all by heart and execute it immaculately as was expected of her.

But that didn't mean she'd have to like it. Among other things, she was expected to curtsy. Curtsy! HER! It was enough to make her want to run off into the woods, scream her head off and using the trees around her for target practice.

There were tents set up all over the back yard along with hundreds of seats facing the altar. The altar itself was a large platform with a heart-shaped bough lined with white flowers. Heart-shaped… what a hilarious idea.

All their servants would be playing the role of wedding guests and were seemingly having a grand day at it. Her sisters would be the bridesmaids, of course. From the tent where she stood, she could see Cissy and Andie having a whale of a time trying on their dresses and curtsying to each other as if all of this was some sort of fucking joke.

Well, it was a fucking joke. Just not a particularly funny one.

At least the groom wasn't here: Rodolphus was spending time with his own family, so Sebastian would be taking his place for the rehearsal. At least that was a small mercy. Bellatrix actually liked Sebastian, which meant she wouldn't be retching all the way to the altar. Right now, a seamstress was fitting her into her grandmother's wedding dress. The dress itself was a gorgeous, multi-layered pristine white garment, accompanied by a large white cloak which would drag three meters behind her and a traditionally pointed hat. Though the garment itself was heavy and cumbersome, it was enchanted to be feather light and flow around her body like water. It was a dress with history as it had served both her grandmother and her mother quite well, she supposed. But for her it was just the gateway to the end of her carefree existence.

"'old still, chouchou," her mother smiled as the seamstress adjusted the fit of the dress' corset and Bellatrix felt all the air being pushed out of her lungs for a moment. "There," her mother smiled. "Ah, you look gorgeous, Bellatrix."

"I don't _feel_ gorgeous," replied Bellatrix, her curly black hair falling down over her back. "And I am _not_ wearing my hair in a bun!"

"Ah, don't be so difficult, chouchou," said her mother, whom was apparently quite excited about the whole idea: well, at least _someone_ was happy about all this nonsense. A few moments later, her father Cygnus appeared, stepping into the tent with a smile on his face. This was the first time she had seen him this week: though he had been trying to cut his business trip short, things had been popping up which required his attention.

Cygnus Black was a tall and lanky man, dressed in expensive finery, clean-shaven and had a neatly kept head of hair which had gone prematurely grey. The youngest of three siblings, her father was someone who always seemed to be at work in some capacity. While uncle Orion from the London branch of the House Black was officially the head of the family and set all the rules, her own father led the financial backbone of House Black and provided all of the branches of their house with tremendous amounts of income.

Her father gave her a warm smile. "Ah, you look gorgeous, my precious girl," said he. "It's hard to believe you're growing up so fast. You look lovely and radiant in your wedding gown."

Bellatrix pursed her lips, absolutely bristling. Lovely and radiant? _Lovely and radiant?_! She was miserable and angry! Why didn't her parents see that?! They were _supposed_ to see that!

"Father," Bellatrix greeted, her displeasure clear on her voice, something which did not pass him by unnoticed. Her parents shared a look and Cygnus gave her mother a brief nod.

"Ella? Why don't you try to reel in Andie and Cissy before they accidentally destroy the altar, hm?" Cygnus asked.

Druella agreed, after which Cygnus asked the seamstress to take a brief moment to leave him alone with his daughter. Once they were alone, Bellatrix felt like she could let out what she'd been feeling all day.

"Come here," her father's voice sounded kind and welcoming. Tears burst from her eyes while she flew into his arms. Her father held her tightly, pressing her head against his chest. "I know all of this must feel so terribly unfair."

"All that work at school," Bellatrix sniffed. "Why did I even bother?"

"Don't say that," replied Cygnus. "You were always talented. You were always eager to prove yourself. And you have. Many times over. I've lost count of the many times you have impressed me."

"There's so many things I want to do," Bellatrix felt her lip tremble. "So many things I want to see."

"And you can! You _will_!" Cygnus smiled. "You're not going to be locked up into a tower for the rest of your life. Have you ever seen me lock up your mother? As if she'd even let me!"

"It's different kind of cage!" Bellatrix bristled. "One of expectations. Mum is expected to run the house and our local holdings as lady of the manor! I don't want that! I want to be an adventurer! An explorer! A writer! An auror!"

"That... will be more difficult," her father admitted.

"Besides, you're not _him_. He pretends to be a polite and thoughtful man, but he's neither. You don't know him like I do!" Bellatrix returned, still sniffling. "Why him?! Why Rodolphus Lestrange of all people?!"

"Bellatrix," Cygnus replied. "We're proud, pure-blood wizards. Among the last of our kind. We have a duty to the wizarding world to keep magic strong."

Bellatrix grunted in anger. "Are we really so afraid of mudbloods that we do these kinds of things to ourselves?!"

Her father stiffened for a moment, raising his head slightly and giving her an intense stare. "Bella," said her father. "You know I don't want to hear that type of language in this house. I do believe we have had terse words about that term before."

"Excuse me, father," said Bellatrix, her gaze pointed downward. "It was an outburst. Uncle Orion…"

Her father's jaw stiffened. "Your uncle Orion is a gormless fool who should learn to keep his filthy mouth shut long enough to stop making idiotic decisions such as cutting off an entire branch of his own family for the most idiotic of reasons! He should not talk about things he does not understand!" he snarled, but immediately let out a sigh when he saw his daughter's stricken look. "Bella, I'm not angry with you."

"I know, father," Bellatrix looked up and smiled. She'd become good at reading people and, judging from her father's outburst, he had just come out of a meeting with uncle Orion. That always seemed to leave her father exhausted. Her thoughts drifted back to the many family gatherings where uncle Orion would never miss an opportunity to whip up the gathered siblings, cousins and other relations to orate about the foulness of dirty blood and the 'scourge of mudbloods' infesting the noble wizarding world to the cheers of many. Bellatrix would sometimes see her father seething in his chair, blinded with rage.

When she was much younger, Bellatrix had thought that her father simply strongly hated muggle-borns, but as she grew older and more adept at reading people, she could clearly tell that her father's rage was only directed towards one single individual in the room he completely and utterly loathed. Today was the moment he came closest to ever confirming it.

"And I don't believe all muggle-borns are bad," whispered Bellatrix, Hermione's smiling face drifting to her mind.

"Of course not," said Cygnus. "I've met many in the States during the… troublesome times. Decent and well-meaning individuals, all of them and I do not fear them personally. But I do fear what they represent on the whole. Our families take a stand for the continued future of a safe wizarding world. Muggle-borns simply belong with their own kind as much as we belong with ours. And that is why you and your sisters shall marry into strong magical lines and produce strong magical offspring. It is how things are done in this family."

"Is that all I am?!" Bellatrix bristled. "A brood-mare?!"

"Of course not, you're exaggerating now, Bella," her father hugged her again and stroked her curly hair. "You do know that your mother and I hated each other to the core when we first met? Oh, loathing doesn't begin to describe it. And look at us now. Love developed and grew between the two of us. We've both led successful lives and had three wonderful daughters. I want the same for you, Bella. Why can't the same happen between you and Rodolphus?"

"It can't!" Bellatrix hissed. "You can't compare maman to Rodolphus. Maman is clever and kind. He's despicable and rotten!"

"Oh, you say that now, my precious child," said her father. "But give it time."

"Couldn't you at least have found me a girl?" Bellatrix sighed heavily. In the past she had made her taste and preference quite clear.

"Believe it or not, I've tried," Cygnus sighed. "But Rodolphus simply had the best pedigree."

Her father sounded… remorseful? Bellatrix sniffled again. "But father..."

"Tell you what," replied Cygnus. "I can see you're upset. Why don't limit the wedding rehearsals to a single day for now and pick it up again at a later date when you're more used to the idea. Let's spend autumn holiday together as a family, just the five of us. With no weddings or anything like that looming over your head."

"I'd like that," said Bellatrix. She had been given, at least, somewhat of a reprieve. Hermione came to mind again. What she wanted right now more than anything else was to talk to possibility the only true friend she had in the world.

"I worry about your sisters," said Cygnus while he stood in the entry to the tent. Bellatrix stood next to her father as they watched the two of them still flinging some cantrips to each other despite their mother's best efforts to put a stop to it.

"They don't know what's looming over their heads," muttered her father. "And I hope they will never have to."

Bellatrix stiffened for a moment, studying her father's expression for a moment. Cygnus tried to hide it by keeping is expression unreadable, but his eyes betrayed his concern.

"Father?" asked Bellatrix. "What does that mean?"

Cygnus sighed heavily. "F… forget I said anything," he spoke softly before placing his hand on her shoulder and trying his best to offer a comforting smile.

That only worried Bellatrix more.


	9. Uncomfortable Truths

With a yelp, Hermione sat up in bed panting and bathing in sweat. She closed her eyes and needed a moment to catch her breath and slowly realized where she was: in the safety of her room at her childhood home. Bathed in darkness, Hermione had only a sliver of light from the moon outside while the autumn wind howled past her window.

Hermione rubbed her face and used the duvet to wipe the moisture away. The nightmare was the same as always. Flashes of the war, the terror, the pain and... Bellatrix. The older Bellatrix. The torture.

She checked her arm: at least the cursed would hadn't reopened this time. Small mercy, that.

Hermione checked the time and found it to be quarter past four on her alarm clock. Knowing quite well how this went by now, she knew wouldn't get an ounce of sleep for the rest of the night. She settled for simply turning on her night light and picking up one of her books to spend a few hours distracting herself while she let the anxiety simmer down a bit. So, she fluffed up her pillow, leaned back and got comfortable while reading a simple muggle book. The book in question was Treasure Island. Fitting, as pirates seemed more palatable than wizards at the moment.

It was getting lighter outside and Hermione was just enjoying a witty exchange between Jim Hawkins and Long John Silver when she heard some ticking outside her window. Curious, Hermione looked up and saw an owl sitting at the window: an owl she immediately recognized as Pigwidgeon. Owls usually waited to deliver mail until the receiving party was up… and since she was, Pigwidgeon felt it was time to deliver his message.

Hermione put the book to her side and slipped out of bed, shivering slightly from the cold rush of air after opening the window. "Hello there, Pig," Hermione greeted. "What are you doing here?"

The answer was a letter which was swiftly lain in Hermione's hands, from Ron of course. Hermione broke the wax seal and tried to make sense of Ron's almost indecipherable handwriting.

" _Hey, Hermione,_

_I stopped by to visit at Hogwarts but was surprised to find you had left. McGonagall told me you're spending autumn break with your parents. I'm glad you did, considering everything that's been happening. Still, I'm hoping you can spare at least one day, the last day of autumn break, at the Burrow. Just grab a floo at any point in the day since we'll keep our fireplace open for visitors. Everyone's coming, Harry too, for a lovely Sunday roast. We'd love it if you'd drop by for a bite and a chat. And if you're worried about mum, don't be. She's not angry with you at all._

_Hope to see you Sunday!_

_R._ "

Hermione smiled a bit. She motioned for Pigwidgeon to wait a bit and quickly wrote a reply that she'd be coming next Sunday. It would be on the way back anyway and she'd be able to catch the Hogwarts Express in the station at Leeds. Hermione gave the letter to Pig and the plucky little owl was off. Afterwards, Hermione curled up in bed with Treasure Island for a bit more until she started to hear movement in the house. She put the book away for later and slipped out of bed to go through the morning routine of shower and dressing.

Hermione greeted her parents as cheerfully as she could muster and joined them at the table for a hearty English breakfast. It didn't take long at all for the whole situation to turn decidedly awkward. As a family they often chatted at the table about everything and anything: stories from school, happenings at the practice, old stories from the past of family, making plans for holidays they would never go on and general philosophy. As an only child, Hermione had a tight bond with her parents.

But today? Nothing. It wasn't as if Hermione didn't want to talk to her parents, it was just that she couldn't think of anything to say to them. And her father was looking at her as if he had something on his mind, but didn't seem to want to be the first person to talk. Her mother looked back and forth between the two of them, looking rather demure.

"More tea, dear?" asked her mother. The first word spoken in ten minutes. Hermione gave only the slightest hint of a nod.

More silence.

The situation was becoming unbearable until her father finally put down his fork and looked at her intently. "So... are we just going keep pretending we haven't heard the crying or the screams last night, Emma?"

"Jack," her mother hissed.

There. It was out. It almost felt like a relief to Hermione. "Dad..." she started to say. Of course after the while incident with the memory charms a few months back, getting their family home back had been only one part of Hermione's worries: she had definitely had some explaining to do. So, she had told her parents everything without holding back this time. All the details.

Her dad had not taken it well.

"What happened to my curious and active little girl?!" her father pleaded. "I remember you vividly regaling us with the most minute details of the wizarding world. All the things you've learned, the wonders you've seen. And now? You've been silent as the grave. And not just today. Yesterday, you've been so withdrawn. I've never seen you like this."

"Jack," her mother gently took hold of his time. "Give Hermione some time."

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. "No, mum," said Hermione. "Dad... dad's right. I haven't been myself for a while now. I've been trying to deny it myself, throwing myself on my school work to hide from it, but... I know I'm not well. I have nightmares and flashbacks. I... I feel... I..." Hermione took a few deep breaths. "I'm not myself. I don't think I'll ever be myself again..."

Her father closed his eyes and shook his head. "Good lord," he whispered. "What have they done to you?"

"Who?"

"Those wizards and witches, of course!" her father exclaimed.

"Oh, Jack," spoke her mother. "I'm certain that Hogwarts is giving Hermione the help she needs. Right, dear?"

Her mother was trying to be the voice of reason. Obviously her parents had been talking. Unfortunately, the true was a bit more uncomfortable than she would like. "Mum, dad, I'll deal with it. Really. Hogswarts... the wizarding world... psychiatric care isn't really a thing there and it's not as if I can go to a muggle therapist."

"So they just left you to deal with it _yourself_?!" her father sighed. "How could they do that?! They owe you! The Ministry of Magic owes you! Hogwarts owes you!"

Emma reached over to wrap an arm around her shoulder. "Oh, sweetie, they're not doing anything for you at all?"

Hermione smiled briefly. "I have McGonagall to talk to..."

"Not good enough, dammit! Not good enough!" her father slammed the flat of his hands on the table as he rose from his chair, causing Hermione to start briefly. Her father wasn't someone who would get angry. In all her twenty years of life, she had only seen him angry a handful of times. This was one of them. His anger wasn't directed at her, though. In fact, it broke her heart to see her father so close to tears. "Hermione, they made you fight a _war_! A bloody war! What kind of sick society makes children fight a war for them?!"

"Dad!" Hermione snapped back. "I chose to fight! I chose to make a stand! I fought in the war because I thought it was just and right. And if I hadn't, I'd have been a victim! There were people around me who were far worse off that I've ever been!"

"Puppet," her father sniffed. "You were _tortured_."

The word slammed a weight on her of a thousand tons, as if someone had dropped an anvil on her back. Hermione tried to respond, but couldn't. "I..." she muttered, her voice cracking and tears coming. For a moment there, she was no longer in her parents' house, not longer at the breakfast table. She was in that dark manor, on the cold floor, with Bellatrix Lestrange hovering over her, biting, cutting, clawing and punching. Carving her skin, mocking her, belittling her. Screaming and cackling in her ear.

Hermione felt her hands start to tremble, her body starting to shake. She doubled forward and started bawling uncontrollably, until both sets of parents' arms wrapped around her. Hermione calmed down somewhat and looked her father in the eye with quivering lip. "Yes. I was," she replied. "What do you want me to say? That I'm broken? That I feel that my friends are abandoning me? That I feel frightened and alone? That I feel I might never be myself again? And that the one person who does make me feel like myself is someone I can never speak of? Oh, irony upon irony."

Her father still held her while he shook his head. "I never should have let you go," he whispered.

"Jack," spoke her mother. "It was never your fault. We decided together. Hermione had a voice in it too."

And finally, Hermione understood: her father had his own demons and guilt to deal with.

"If only we hadn't allowed you to go, you would have stayed with us in the muggle world," said Jack. "You would have done great things with your life, puppet. You could have been a doctor, an engineer. Hell, even a hairdresser. Better than the alternative."

"The traumatized mess I am now?" Hermione raised both eyebrows.

"Yes! No! I mean..."

"I'm still Hermione Granger, dad," said Hermione. "I'm still your daughter. I'll always be."

"Hermione, I'm your father! I was supposed to protect you!" her father squeezed his eyes shut. "I... I failed you just as much as Hogwarts and the Ministry failed you."

"Don't say that," Hermione shook her head. "I've been a bad daughter. I've neglected you and mum for stupid things I now regret! It was my choice to go to the wizarding world, it was my choice to fight in the war. I now have to deal with the consequences of those choices. And you both are here for me now."

Her father let out a deep sigh while her mother embraced her once more. "I swear," spoke her father. "If that vile woman who tortured you wasn't dead already, I'd be scouring the countryside for her. And once I'd caught her, I'd be making a pyre for a good old-fashioned witch-burning!"

That caused Hermione to chuckle in spite of herself. "That's a bit culturally insensitive, dad. Besides, she… she's not all bad. She was a victim of this war too. The more I learn about her, the more I sympathize. And the more certain I become that she could be saved."

Jack Granger smiled, then laughed. "Trust my Hermione to sympathize with her tormentor."

"Enough," said her mother. "Enough guilt-tripping from either of you. Jack, you are not at fault for what happened to Hermione. None of us are. And Hermione, you need to realize that there are more people who care about you than you might know. You don't have to be lonely."

"How about," Hermione nodded. "We try to get past this? Remember when I used to be home from school during holidays and got incredibly bored and dad wouldn't let me read books all day? Let's just do... dumb stuff, silly things, like in the old days. How about we order a pizza? And then watch some of dad's old crap horror films?"

"Hey, those are vintage!"

"Sure they are, Jack," her mother rolled her eyes.

"And then we go to theatre, or London Zoo, or Camden market, or maybe even a trip to Stonehenge!" said Hermione. "Just spend time together as a family, like we used to do... like I... skipped out on so often."

Apparently, her parents picked up on the hint and part of the cause of Hermione's guilt. Her father put his fingers to his chin. "Spending some time together cozied up in the safety of home and family. I think we can arrange that."

"It's decided then," her mother smiled. "But, Hermione, no more secrets, alright? You can tell us anything and everything."

"It's a promise," said Hermione, feeling a bit bad about already having broken her promise. But to explain that she was talking to a younger version of her tormentor through a magical pool which allowed her to speak to people in another time-line sounded so ludicrous even for the wizarding world that she wisely decided not to mention this to her parents for now.

They probably wouldn't understand. Still, she hoped Bellatrix was faring well with her family visit.

* * *

The downside of living in a house as big as hers was that you could wander the halls of Catterborough Woodhouse for ages until you actually ran into a person. This early in the morning, this was actually a good thing: her sisters wouldn't be up at this ungodly hour and as soon as they were up, they'd want to do things. Things like chatting, broom riding and general family stuff. All nice things, certainly, but Bellatrix still had a bit of a mission and she didn't want to return to Hermione empty-handed.

Before she headed to the library, the turned to the ground floor of the house near the back of the central building where the family chapel was. She could probably use a little luck right around now.

This was no mere muggle chapel. This was a family gathering place to honour the ancient magics. It was a small room, but mostly open space. A few stain-glass windows depicted the Crann Bethadh, the Celtic Tree of Life. Aside from that, there was a lot of maintained greenery in the chapel, staged around a small holly tree at the back. Before the holly tree was stood her family's most ancient possession: a regular, non-magical, run of the mill statue of a bearded man with a deer's antlers, sat cross-legged with a torc in one hand and a staff in the other. The offering bowl in front of the man had been emptied, it seemed, but Sebastian had placed fresh incense in the pot next to the bowl.

Bellatrix took a moment to savour the smell before she moved to a cloth bag near the statue, containing a stack of pennies. As was customary, Bellatrix used her wand to light a candle and the incense, before giving the statue a small offering of copper or tin by placing it in the offering bowl. She stood there for a moment, enjoying the smell of the incense. All members of her family… well, except her oncle… regularly made an offering of copper or tin.

Honestly, Bellatrix didn't quite know why she did it, but asking for a little luck never seemed like too much to ask for. And it was not as if this ritual took very long. Right, off to the library, then.

She walked the marble halls of the west wing which contained most of the house's rooms devoted to magical study and headed to the massive double doors leading into the library. Catterborough Woodhouse's library was sizable, and a centrepiece to the household. A massive bottom floor filled with bookcases and two story mezzanine running along the sides of the room with even more bookcases, connected to the bottom floor by twin spiral staircases. Several reading desks were placed near the entrance, along with a model globe which was almost the same size she was. Stain-glass windows let in a pleasant reading light. The floor was the finest of marble, and whatever bits of the wall weren't covered by bookcases were lined with the finest of wood panelling. The most precious of books were located behind glass. The most dangerous of books behind magical forcefields.

The only part of the library which wasn't meticulously organized was the family archive, located in the turret tower near the back of the library, but she didn't have to go there at the moment.

This library was the result of combining the collection of generations of Blacks and was painstakingly maintained by her mother. Grand-père's entire collection had practically doubled the amount of books stored here. Bellatrix thought of Hermione and how she would probably never want to leave after setting one foot in it.

"Right, Bella," she told herself. "Let's get started."

Now, Bellatrix was a studious girl and knew this library by the back of her hand, having spent many hours here in her younger days. Unfortunately, the number of books to choose from was slightly overwhelming. With the index in hand, she moved to the section of the library on ancient magical legends and found three stacks filled with hundreds of books. She bit her lip and moved on to the topic of magical forests and was confronted with four stacks filled to the brim with even more books.

Bellatrix had discovered a bit of a flaw in her plan: she only had a vague idea what to look for and trying to find it would be like trying to find the proverbial needle in a haystack: it could take her months to stumble upon something relevant among these sheer amounts of books. She needed something more specific, some clues of where to look.

"Think, Bella, think," she paced back and forth, putting her fingers to her lips. She could feel her anger mounting... what to do? What to do? Then, it hit her and she snapped her fingers with a smile: uncle Achille! He and grand-père had been rather close and grand-père would often share legends he'd been researching with him. If she was lucky, oncle might know. It was certainly worth a try first.

Oncle Achille's atelier was located in part of the attic of the central building of the manor house. It was the place where he worked, slept, often ate and spent most of his time. When Bellatrix entered, she could already smell the pleasant odours of fresh paint. This part of the attic stretched on for hundreds of feet, cavernous and large and walls and roof covered with so many paintings practically no part of the original wall plaster or wood panelling could be seen. Near the door stood some paintings which were all packed up for shipping to those who commissioned them, waiting to be picked up.

Her father had always called Achille a lazy bounder and a useless layabout, but Bellatrix had always thought that to be very unfair: Achille Rosier was a celebrated artist and no matter which time of day Bellatrix would enter his atelier, from the earliest of the morn to the dead of night, she would find him busy at work to a point that she wondered if the man ever even slept at all.

She surmised that her father's disdain for oncle Achille was more related to the fact that he was a pure-blood who was unmarried and childless, nor someone who was dedicated to further developing magical power. Oncle Achille was a man whom lived only for his works of creation.

Right now, her oncle was hard at work creating, as usual. The thin man, about forty years of age and with a head of wild black hair, stood with his back turned to her on the other side of the attic, slapping paint on a massive canvas with broad strokes and humming to himself. "Ah," he greeted with a thick French accent without turning around. "Ah! Salut, Bellatrix! Is it autumn break already? It seems like it was only summer a week past."

Bellatrix blinked. How did oncle _do_ that?!

As if sensing her thoughts, oncle chuckled briefly. "It is no mystery, cherie. I saw those wedding rehearsal tents being put up. And aside from ma soeur, you are the only one who visits me up 'ere."

"Yeah," Bellatrix sighed. "Father is really pushing the importance of this wedding on me."

"Pfah! Not a creative bone in 'is body, that one," oncle Achille kept painting as Bellatrix stood next to him. She could already see the painting take shape. It was about two meters high and almost as broad. On the canvas was depicted her mother Druella along with herself and her two sisters dressed in their finery. The four of them stood smiling and looked full of zest and life. It was amazing that oncle had painted this completely from memory.

"A present for your mother's birthday," said oncle Achille. "A très magnifique family portrait."

"Father isn't in it."

"Noticed that, hm?" oncle chuckled. There was definitely no love lost between them. Bellatrix smiled for a moment. "Cherie, 'ave you been keeping up with your writing?"

"I have!" said Bellatrix. "I've been working on some new stories."

"Bon, bon," oncle nodded in approval. It was he who had encouraged her to seek a creative outlet. He'd been right when he'd told her that it would give her a way to deal with the issues in her life, and that it could turn negativity into the positivity of creation. Bellatrix's talent had not lain within the realm of painting and drawing, but rather in writing and storytelling. He'd been a willing audience for many of her early writing attempts.

"I feel like I'm getting better with every story I write," Bellatrix replied.

"It is a good feeling, no?" oncle turned his head to wink at her. "Don't let your father know, though. 'e'd likely give you a lecture. Did you know 'e warned me not to fill your 'ead with distractions before the wedding? I told 'im to go eat a baguette."

Bellatrix cocked her head sideways. "A baguette?"

"A big black fleshy vein-y baguette," oncle smirked.

Yikes. That was mental image Bellatrix could had lived without. Still, she appreciated the sentiment.

"Of course, the man 'e found for you is just as uncreative as 'e is," said oncle. "What was 'is name again? Rudolph something? Like the reindeer with the red nose, non?"

"Rodolphus. Rodolphus Lestrange," Bellatrix crossed her arms while she replied, the name still leaving a dirty taste in her mouth. "And if he thinks I'll be the meek little wife who dances to his every whim, he's got another thing coming! He's going to be faced with the fight of his life for the rest of his life! Which will be really short if I can help it!"

"Good girl," oncle smiled, but his smile quickly fell. He put down his paints and turned to her while cleaning his hands with a rag. "But, cherie, I would rather see you 'appy, non?"

Bellatrix closed her eyes and sighed heavily. "That's not going to happen any time soon, I think."

"Ah, don't say that, cherie," oncle shook his head and reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder. "There's always options. There's always 'ope. There's always... a way out."

Bellatrix pursed her lips, letting her oncle's words rolled through her mind. "Are you suggesting... I run away?"

"Oh, 'eavens no," oncle gave her an obviously faked look of shock. "I'm not saying that at all, Cherie! Just, 'ypothetically speaking, you'd do more than fine on your own if you were to. You are a talented and strong young woman, after all."

Run away? Leave her family behind? Could she do that? Should she do that? Where would she even go? The implications were just staggering.

"Cherie," said oncle, apparently sensing her distress "I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't," Bellatrix replied. "I... I sometimes wish you were my father instead..."

"... and my sister still your mother?" oncle hissed through his teeth. "I may be pure-blood, but I'm not _that_ pure-blood."

"Hah, you know what I mean," Bellatrix laughed.

"I do," smiled oncle. "And I appreciate it, Cherie. 'ave you come to read me another story?"

Bellatrix shook her head. "Actually, I wanted to ask you about something, oncle."

"Oh?"

"You see, there's this girl I've met..."

"Oh, oh, oh," laughed oncle Achille. "L'amour has struck!"

Bellatrix blinked and snapped her mouth shut for a moment. "No, no, it's nothing like that. She's... she's my friend."

"Uh-huh," oncle winked.

"Oncle, please, this is serious!" Bellatrix pouted slightly.

Oncle Achille's smirk faded somewhat, but still maintained his jovial appearance. "Of course, Cherie. What may I 'elp you with?"

"My friend and I were working on a... research project," said Bellatrix. "I was hoping to find something in grand-père's library, but there's so many esoteric books on so many different topics. It's hard to know where to start. I could search for months in grand-père's library and I couldn't find a thing. Oncle, you know a lot of about tales of old. You and grand-père were very close and I know you've painted some of the tales and subjects grand-père researched. Perhaps you have some across what I seek."

"Well, you certainly 'ave my curiosity piqued, cherie," chuckled oncle. "Describe what you are looking for."

"A magical pool. About the size of a small pond and just as shallow. Located in a clearing in the forest and nestled among the roots of a long dead petrified tree. The pool becomes active and magical, but only during the witching hour, when it will emit a blue magical glow which looks like..." Bellatrix searched the many painting and finally pointed out the blue dress of an unknown lady in a nearby portrait. "... that colour! But that's not all. When you look into the pool when it's active, you do not see your own reflection. You will see the same place around you, but in the same passage of time."

Oncle Achille, rubbed his chin slightly, seemingly in deep thought trying to recall a memory of long past. "'Old on, cherie," he said and rushed to a small side-room in the attic. He moved a sliding door aside and stepped into a storage room where many older paintings were stored on racks: these were the works he wanted to keep but had no room to display for. Bellatrix watched oncle move from rack to rack until he found what he was looking for with a loud 'ahah!'. What he produced was a small 50 by 50 centimetre canvas in a frame which he handed to Bellatrix.

Curious, Bellatrix took a look at the painting and found it to be of eerie familiarity: on the canvas was depicted a dark clearing in a deep forest of evergreens. A pool nestled in the roots of a dead tree illuminated the clearing while a unicorn was taking a drink from the water, its reflection not being white of skin but rather black as coal with glowing blue eyes. No. Not _one_ set of eyes. A cluster of three eyes on each side of the head, close together. How strange…

A label on the frame read 'Réflexions sur la forêt noire'.

"Reflections upon the Black Forest," Bellatrix muttered.

Oncle nodded. "The Schwartzwald, to be more precise. Germany's biggest and deepest forest. I don't quite remember the tale itself, it's been so long ago after all. What I do remember is that, while rare, these pools sometimes show up in forests of a deeply magical nature. This painting was based on a folk tale papa was studying which resonated with me enough to paint this."

"Folk tales surrounding magical forests. Schwartzwald," Bellatrix muttered while being unable to rip her eyes away from the painting. "I think those some good angles for me to get started."

"Keep the painting," said oncle. "It's only gathering dust 'ere and, who knows, it might 'elp you impress your girlfriend."

"My _friend_ ," Bellatrix pressed, narrowing her eyes a little.

"Pardon," chuckled oncle with a wink. Still, Bellatrix was most grateful. She'd been given the lead she needed and couldn't wait to get started. The plucky young curly-haired witch took another look at the painting. There was something rather unsettling about the reflection of the unicorn in the pool. Perhaps she'd find out more later.

Furthermore, this might keep her focused on something else than those damnable wedding rehearsals. She couldn't wait to get started. "Thanks, oncle!" she said while putting the painting under her arm and turning towards the door.

"Bonsoir, cherie!" oncle called after her. "And think of all the kisses your 'ard work will earn you!"

"ONCLE!"

"I kid, cherie, I kid!" oncle chuckled. "Or am I? Describe 'er for me."

Bellatrix crossed her arms and gave her oncle a pouty expression. Eventually, she just let out a sigh, picturing Hermione in her head. "Long brown hair, cascading down her back," she spoke softly. "Deep brown eyes, expressive eyebrows. Creamy white skin, somewhat less pale than myself. Fiercely intelligent, but somewhat unsure of herself. Slender, a bit taller than I. Likes to wear a school uniform even when she doesn't have to. Has this oddly bossy quality to her voice."

Her oncle laughed now. "And when she speaks, you want to listen to 'er all night, don't you, cherie?"

"Oncle," Bellatrix started again, feeling a little dejected.

"Right, I'll stop," Achille replied softly. "Still, you 'ave a great eye for detail. Maybe I should paint this mysterious friend of yours sometimes, non?"

Her oncle was merely teasing her, of course. He probably didn't realize how rare it was for her to have an actual friend. She said her goodbyes to her uncle and made her way back to the library. With the index at hand, she crossed referenced books about the German Black Forest and ancient legends and had a bit of an epiphany when she regarded the painting uncle had given her. The painting had been made in 1931, some twenty years before she'd been born. Now, she knew her uncle to be a capricious artist, someone who quickly lost interest in ideas if not executed quickly enough, so she was certain that if grand-père had shared the tale with him, it would have to have been that same year.

So, Bellatrix dug up her grandfather's diaries and research notes from the private section of the library for 1931 in the turret tower. In itself, that was a task as well, considering grand-père had been a very prolific researcher. Thankfully, Bellatrix was fluent in French and poured through the notebooks until she found it.

Elated, she came across references to an ancient legend with scant few actual evidence to back it up, but what was in the notes described the phenomenon to a tee. A broad smile was still on her face as she dug up the book referenced by the notes and turned to the correct chapter. And there it was: the story of their pool, lain out in a book from 1878... ninety years ago. Another multiple of three. Coincidence was becoming less likely.

So, she had her grandfather's research, a book describing the legend and her oncle's painting. Quite a bounty to share with Hermione. Her friend was bound to be impressed.

Her thoughts drifted for a moment... was she trying to impress Hermione? Why?

She pushed the odd thought to the back of her mind and let her hand slide over the illustration of the book, reading the name underneath the picture. "Fae Mirror," she whispered.

"BBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" sounded just as a heavy weight fell on her back and two hands covered her eyes.

"AAAAAAH!" Bellatrix exclaimed, rose from her seat and started struggling to throw the unseen assailant off her back, twirling around while the figure held on for dear life. Finally, she did manage and the person whom had glomped her fell to the floor. Bellatrix snarled and twisted around, drawling and aiming her wand.

"What?!" Bellatrix shouted when she saw who it was. "CISSY?! WHAT THE FU... WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT JUMPING ON MY BACK?!"

Bellatrix caught herself as swearing was frowned upon in this household. Meanwhile, Andie was doubled over and leaned against the door-frame, looking ready to piss herself from laughter. "Oh, Bella," Andie laughed. "You should see the look on your face."

Cissy was giggling too now, pointing at her.

"Seriously," Bellatrix replied, letting out a chuckle of her own now. "What's with this current trend of jumping on your older sister's back?"

"It's just funny," Cissy said. "And stop being so boring, Bella! Why are you in the library anyway? It's holiday! No more school!"

Bellatrix felt a twinge of panic and rushed back to the table, quickly scooping up the books and stuffing them into her book bag. "Just a project for school, nothing special. Anyway, it's done now."

Cissy accepted this answer, but Andie gave her a somewhat suspicious look. Bellatrix turned her gaze away and refused to met her eyes: her younger sister had a strange knack for figuring out when she was up to something. She slung the bag over her back and decided to act casual. "Come, let me drop this off in my room and we'll go have some fun. How about we set up an obstacle course in the backyard? Let's see which one of us can get the best times without touching any of the rings!"

"Oh, you're on!" Cissy raised her chin.

"Cissy," Andie smirked. "Bella is the Slytherin team star chaser!"

"Yeah, but I'm fast and nimble!" said Cissy. "And Quidditch doesn't have you flying through rings."

"Oh, you're on," Bellatrix grinned: she had done what she had come to do. Now she'd have the rest of the week to spend with her family for a fun holiday with her sisters... likely her last.

* * *

Hermione groaned as she lay on the sofa in the living room of her childhood home, content and uncomfortable at the same time. Content from having a belly full of junk food and uncomfortable for having eaten an entire pizza which had clearly exceeded the capacity of her stomach.

Today had been a very good day: walking around the Heath, past the greens of Parliament Hill and the magnificent interiors of Kenwood House. Though Kenwood was a museum, Hermione realized that Bellatrix actually lived in much a stately manor. Today had been a trip down memory lane, a reminder of simpler and perhaps even better times.

Then it time to head right back home for pizza and Predator with her parents. Granted, she barely paid any attention to the movie itself, but the pizza was absolutely delicious. During the film, she found her thoughts often drifting to the magic pool. What was it? How did it work? What was its purpose? Did it even _have_ a purpose?

Though Hermione knew she shouldn't dwell on it too much… Bellatrix was in a far better position to find clearer answers on her end, after all… it was simply hard to let go. Instead, Hermione simply stretched on the sofa, doing her best to get comfortable.

"Hermione dear," sounded the voice of her mother, accompanied by a pat on the leg. "If you're feeling tired or not well, you should probably lie down in bed. I've never seen you eat so much before!"

"Comfort food. I really needed some," Hermione chuckled at first, before regretting her words. Her mum was never a particular fan of gallows humour. Her dad was, though… probably not when it pertained to his own daughter. "Sorry, mum, I didn't mean…"

"It's fine, dear," said her mum. "Today was good."

"It was," smiled Hermione. And she meant it. She had felt a little like her old self today. Just a tad. "Where did dad go?"

"Oh," her mother chuckled to herself. "Alf from next door came by. There was a package delivery while we were out. From Forbidden Planet."

"Ah," smiled Hermione, her curiosity piqued. Shifted slightly, her stomach protesting as she moved to get up from the sofa. It took her a moment to steady herself until the pizza settled in her obstinate stomach before she could make her way up the stairs to her dad's hobby room. It was there where she found him, surrounded by a healthy mix of Stormtroopers, Enterprises, Batman paraphernalia and other assorted figures: the result of a lifetime of collecting. In fact, Hermione was surprised that her father hadn't claimed _her_ room yet to store part of his massive collection. Perhaps her mum had put a stop to that.

"Oh, hello there, puppet," her father said as he had just put the remains of a box on the room and had just removed some items from its packaging. Considering her father was moving figures about on his dedicated Dalek shelf, she had an inkling what it could be. Indeed, it was a three-pack of different coloured ones and he was finding a good home for them.

"New Daleks?" Hermione asked.

By now, her mum had settled herself in the doorframe and was shaking her head. "Honestly, Jack, I don't get it. They're all the same."

"Obviously not," Jack shook his head. "Look, they're all different colours and sizes!"

"But they're still all the same!" said her mum. "Except that one, I guess. The little man there."

Hermione chuckled. "That's Davros, mum. Even I know that."

It was then that she and her father shared a look. Her father's expression saying _'your mum just doesn't get it_ ' and Hermione's expression saying ' _quit trying to explain it to mum, its pointless_ '.

"You two are absolutely terrible," said her mum, a wry grin tugging at the corners of her lips before withdrawing. Still, this was good. This was a familiar place, something she shared with her father. Even when she was a little girl, she understood that these weren't toys to be played with, but she marvelled at some of the things regardless. It something she shared with her father, and remembered sitting on his lap as a little girl while he piddled with his home computer. Of course, the ZX Spectrum of old was now displayed on one of the top shelves as a fond relic of old and a Compaq PC had taken its place, but the feelings were still the same.

This room make her feel comfortable. Safe.

"Any new pieces since I last was here?" asked Hermione.

"Oh, yes, many!" said her father with his usual enthusiasm. "Wait, let me show you this Captain Kirk figure I picked up from…"

Hermione only listened partially while her father told her of his fierce and relentless eBay bidding war. Instead, she focused entirely on being surrounded with good memories.


	10. Family outings

"Is she back yet?! Is she back yet?!" Cissy shouted as she was restlessly shifting from the sofa to the window, then to another window, then back to the sofa, only to rush back to the window. Sat in their common room, located between all three of their rooms, Bellatrix simply watched a relentlessly energetic Cissy with a bemused smirk.

"Are you bouncing?" Bellatrix chuckled. "I do believe you're actually bouncing."

"Oh, be quiet, you rotter," Cissy stuck out her tongue before turning back to glue herself to the window. "I'm excited. I can't believe you're not!"

"I am!" Bellatrix laughed. "But bouncing up and down and shrieking like a concert girl isn't going to get Andie back here any faster! Find something to occupy your time with. It'll pass quicker."

"I just can't!" Cissy wailed and threw herself on one of their sofas, pressing her head against the pillows while letting out a muffled scream.

Though clearly amused, Bellatrix felt that Andie was far more courageous than her to a point that she considered there might be a bit of foolhardy Gryffindor within her: for it was Andie who braved a visit to Muggle inner city Manchester. All on her own. Without her sisters or any wizard to rely upon. If Bellatrix hadn't known that Andie could handle it, she never would allowed her to go and certainly not for a guilty pleasure the sisters shared.

Cissy merrily continued bouncing until she finally announced Andie's return with shriek which almost made her eardrums burst. "THERE SHE IS! THERE SHE IS!"

"Quiet down!" Bellatrix hissed, looking over her shoulder. Of course, Catterborough Woodhouse was so large that it had mostly empty corridors on the best of days, but the laws of the universe would state that if the sisters were doing something they shouldn't, it was increasingly likely that either their parents or Sebastian would be nearby. And even though Andie was now on the premises, she would still have to run a gauntlet before she'd be back at their rooms. So, Cissy did as she was told, sat down while biting her lip and kept as silent as possible. And yet she was still bouncing ever so slightly.

"Seriously, how did they ever let you in Slytherin?" Bellatrix joked, earning herself a stuck out tongue in her general direction.

Thankfully, all worries where for nought as Andie came bursting through the door still wearing her muggle clothing and bearing a grin so broad it almost snapped her face in half. Of course, Cissy was the first to pounce. "Did you get it?" she bounced again. "Didyougetitdidyougetitdidyougetit?!"

Andie said nothing, merely held up a paper bag before fishing out a small muggle vinyl record, slid it out of its cover and held it up. On it was the depiction of a green apple.

"Play it!" Cissy demanded and proceeded to almost drag Andie and Bella along to Andie's room.

"Hey, ow! Watch the hair!" Bellatrix demanded, pulling herself loose from Cissy's grip and sauntered in after her sisters. Andie's room was a lot different than hers or Cissy's. For one, the ceiling was sloped making the room seem a lot smaller, but Andie didn't mind as it made it feel more cozy to her. Adorned with light pastel colours, the room just screamed 'middle sister' as she had chosen it to stand out from Cissy's bright pinks or Bella's darker browns and greys. Andie put down her bag and pulled her record player from under her bed to set it up. After pulling her wand, she aimed it at a painting of four cats and transfigured it into its true form: a concert poster of The Beatles.

Bellatrix smirked. All three of them liked the Beatles. Who could not? In fact, it was their little rebellion: if their parents knew that they were listening to muggle music there'd be hell to pay. Still, this was a little secret the three of them had as sisters. While Andie was setting up her record player, Bellatrix did her part by putting a silencing charm on the room while Cissy bounced rather impatiently on Andie's bed.

While Andie was busy, Bellatrix took the single cover and took a look. "Hey Jude," she said after reading the title.

"Yeah, brand new," Andie beamed. "Just released last week! I wouldn't even have known about if Ted hadn't told me about it."

"Who's Ted?" asked Bellatrix.

"Oh," Andie waved dismissively. "Boy in my year. You wouldn't know him. The important thing is, we now have something ace to add to our collection."

Said collection being a copy of every album and single the Beatles had ever released, cleverly disguised as vinyl records of innocuous and boring wizarding bands. The three sisters sat cross-legged around the record player, the silencing charm allowing for a good volume.

_Hey, Jude, don't make it bad_

_Take a sad song and make it better_

_Remember to let her into your heart_

_Then you can start to make it better_

Already, she could tell it was a very good song and her sisters were already getting into it... swooning as young teens were wont to do. But Bellatrix... Bellatrix found her mind wandering. The entire song had started to remind her of her own situation: how her carefree life would soon come to an end. How the great times spent with her sisters were finite and fewer in number every day. It hit her like a punch to the gut.

_Hey, Jude, don't be afraid  
You were made to go out and get her  
The minute you let her under your skin  
Then you begin to make it better _

For some reason... that made her think of Hermione. She could see her brown tresses floating by in her minds eye, seeing her face floating in front of her. Her smile. The kind of smile on a girl who was always willing to listen. She hadn't talked to her in days now and it was frightening to think on just how much she missed her.

_Hey, Jude, don't let me down  
You have found her, now go and get her_

She shook her head. She shouldn't think these things. Hermione was her friend. And they were literally thirty years apart.

_Remember to let her under your skin  
Then you'll begin to make it better_

Once again, Bellatrix was lost in thought. About her future, Hermione, Lestrange and whatever would come after her ill-fated wedding. When she looked up, she could only smile as the song had whipped up and Andie and Cissy were both loudly singing along with the 'nah, nah nah, nah's. Well, they were easy lyrics, at least, and she chuckled when Cissy still managed to mess them up regardless.

The song finally ended and Andie stopped the player. "That was fantastic!" Andie raved. "But you were being rather quiet, Bella!"

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "I was enjoying that song until you two philistines started crowing along. It's like listening to two hippogryphs mating!"

"Hey!" Cissy pouted.

"Oh, you rotter!" Andie laughed. "You'd better be singing along next time, if you know what's good for you!"

"Again!" Cissy demanded.

"Not yet," said Andie as she held up the magically warmed bag. "I got the other thing too!"

"Doner kebab?!" Cissy asked... another forbidden thing in the house.

"Doner kebab!" Andie grinned and started unpacking.

Bellatrix couldn't help but smile: spending time with her sisters chatting, gossipping and eating junk food while listening to the Beatles on repeat. Yes, this would be another one of those memorable moment spent as sisters. Times which were finite and would never return once lost.

* * *

Today had been a good day. Coming to visit her parents had been a wonderful decision on her part. They had spent the entire day together, enjoying everything which London had to offer. Restaurants, fun walks, listening to some of the nutters at the Speaker's Corner in Hyde park, London Aquarium. Today, she had felt like the old Hermione again; curious, full of life and enjoyment.

Well, that ended quickly when it was time to go to bed. Here, in her room, she simply lay staring at the ceiling as sleep refused to come. That sense of soul-crushing loneliness had returned. That sense of abandonment. That sense of having no one.

She hated it.

Oh god, she hated it so much.

No matter what she did, no matter what she wanted, no matter what she told herself, it always relentlessly returned, sometimes tenfold after a good day. Unless she kept her mind of things.

So, that was just what she did. Hermione tried some reading. It didn't help. Then she tried to listen to some music by turning on the radio, but found the UK singles chart as insipid and uninspiring as ever. Finally, she simply threw the blankets off and found her slippers. A few moments later, she was seated at her desk and started scribbling on a notepad. If sleep didn't find her, perhaps working on her herbology thesis might help. Though she had left all her notes at Hogwarts, she could at least work on the intro and the structure of her work.

She got through three paragraphs when, to her chagrin, she realized she had left the radio on. She was about to get up to switch it off until the refrain of some new pop song caught her ear.

_Don't wanna close my eyes  
I don't wanna fall asleep  
'Cause I'd miss you, baby  
And I don't wanna miss a thing _

Hermione frowned. For some reason, that made her think of Bellatrix. Bellatrix, the woman whom had tortured her... and the girl whom had become her vast friend despite the odds. In so many ways, she was still an enigma to her. And, to her own surprise, she found that she missed their conversations.

No.

Her.

Hermione missed _her._

Quite a lot, in fact. The thought gave her pause and she put down her pen for a moment. The song continued in the background while Hermione closed her eyes and saw Bellatrix' smiling face. So different from the evil woman she had once faced.

A moment later, Hermione shook her head, tossed her pencil to the desk and walked over to the radio to switch it off.

"What a crap song," Hermione muttered to herself and sauntered back to her desk. There was work to be done, after all.

* * *

Bellatrix and her sisters stood at the railing of a large magically warded pen looking upon the Snowdonia mountains of Wales. Both she and her sisters were in awe of the magnificent old Welsh Green which had landed right in front of them. More young wizards and witches came running to the railing to have a look.

Truth be told, Bellatrix had never seen a dragon from this up close before. She could count every scale, see every scar, look him right in the eye.

It was obvious that this old dragon was used to being around humans and was a bit of a show-off. He spread his wings wide, threw his neck up and unleashed a massive ball of flame into the air. Bellatrix, along with the other young ones gathered, let out a gasp in appreciation for this magnificent beast.

So far, the family visit to the Welsh Dragon Sanctuary had been a marvellous success. Even oncle had gone with them: he stood near them at the railing looking at the dragon and then the sketchbook he was holding. The charcoal sped over the page as oncle Achille was working on getting the muscle tone of the dragon's neck just right now that this beast had come in for a close-up.

As family visits went, this one was special in that oncle had joined them. A rare occasion. Perhaps it had something to do with father having business with the Sanctuary head of staff, dragging mother along with him and oncle had been asked by mother to be their chaperon.

Unfortunately, that meant her father hadn't been there with them for the most part.

"Bella!" Cissy yelled and pulled on her purse. "Give me some galleons! I want to give him a treat!"

"Right, right, calm down," Bellatrix said and handed Cissy a few coins. Immediately, her little sister ran to a big red dispenser and inserted the coins. A few moments later, the carcass of a slaughtered pig slid down a funnel and landed right in front of the old dragon. The dragon didn't waste any time, bending its snout down, grabbing the pig to throw it into the air where it deftly caught it and crushed it between his jaws. After his meal, he let out an appreciative bellow and rewarded the crowd with another big ball off fire before taking off.

"Now, that dragon is definitely a show-man," Andie laughed as she used a pair of binoculars to watch him fly off.

After all the excitement, the four of them went into the cafe next to the visitor's center for some tea and scones. Freshly baked, the scones smelled wonderful and, after a liberal application of jam and clotted cream, Bellatrix found out they tasted delicious too. While Cissy and Andie were chatting and raving about their dragon encounter, Bellatrix fished a leather-bound notebook from her purse and folded it open. Though originally meant as a diary, she used it as a notebook to jot down ideas and work on drafts of stories: and today, she had gotten a few ideas on how to work dragons into a story she'd been planning. Her quill diligently in hand, she quickly wrote down the ideas in short incomplete sentences before they had a chance to sink into the misty mires of an eager mind.

"Something you're working on, cherie?" Achille asked.

"Oh, a new story?" Andie asked.

Bellatrix looked up. "No, just some... ideas. Nothing yet."

"Oh, come on, surely there is something you 'ave to share, non?" Achille winked while Andie smiled.

Bellatrix gave the both of them a wary look. "Well, there is something. It's not finished, though, I'm not sure if I should..."

"I don't want to hear a scary story!" Cissy pouted.

"See?" Bellatrix tried.

"Cissy never wants to hear a scary story, because she's a stupid baby," Andie rolled her eyes. "Come on, Bella!"

Bellatrix bit her lip. "I don't know..."

"Come on, we're family. We won't judge," said oncle.

"Are you kidding?" Bellatrix huffed. "You lot are my harshest critics. But... fine! If I don't, I won't hear the end of it all week."

Bellatrix leafed through her book looking for the first draft of a story she'd been working on. The pages it was written on had seen a lot of corrections and words scratched out. When she was done revising, she would copy it to another book where she kept all her final versions, but it wasn't yet ready for that. "Okay. I call this one 'Obsession'."

" _It all started when Fraser, my neighbour, tripped over a rock in his backyard. He, like myself, has been a lifelong resident of the township of Cobblepot, a wizard-only community near Somerset. Nothing much happened in our sleepy little town. It is telling that someone tripping over a rock is considered a source of commotion._

_'Damn yer eyes,' I heard him yell while hanging up the laundry and came to investigate. He'd been tilling the earth to plant a new batch of roses and had come across an oddly shaped rock. It was obsidian, black as coal and hard as granite. Fraser cursed and cursed as he tried his wand to lift the rock up from his garden and levitate it over his fence. The rock, however, never budged. It was not as if his magic was ineffectual, but rather that it was too large to move: it was then that we realized that what we were seeing was only a small part of it._

_'Need any help?' I asked, more out of politeness than anything. Fraser gave me a nod and soon enough, the two of use were digging out the rock. We figured that if we freed it from the soil, the two of us could apply our wands to it._

_After about half an hour of digging, we noticed two things. First, the rock was hewn and smooth as silk. Second, there seemed to be no end of it. The top of the rock was shaped as a point and expanded outward slightly as the soil around it was removed."_

Bellatrix looked up from her story to see Andie looking at her eagerly, waiting for her to continue. Cissy was cuddled up against Andie while oncle had found inspiration and was sketching. So far, it was all going well.

_'Figures', said Fraser with a gruff, defeated voice. 'My bloody house is right on top of a bloody graveyard or somethin'.'_

_Clearly the two of us wouldn't be enough to dig this thing out. Fraser decided to call upon the help of the townsfolk. No less than an hour later, two of us had become twelve while mrs. Miggins was kindly providing us hard workers with tea and biscuits. We started working in shifts, with one group digging and another doing the wandwork to move the soil away from the yard._

_The sun was about to set when we realized we had something special on our hands. As the light of the evening sun shone upon the rock, green magical runes appeared, glowing with faint power. They were runes of the likes none of us had ever seen before and didn't even remotely resembled the iconography our ancestors used._

_'There's new magic down there,' Fraser told me and the others. 'I feel it in my bones!'_

_'New magic'... those words went like a whisper through the entire gathering. Still, it was decided that we would rest for the night and continue the work tomorrow._

_I slept rather uneasily, dreams of the rock and runes. Calling out to me. The lure of the new magic. Or is that old new magic? Regardless, when I opened my eyes, I found myself standing next to the rock, shovel still in hand. I had been digging. And it was daylight. All around me, dozens of my fellow witches and wizards were hard at work on freeing the rock from its earthly prison. The entire town was here, including children and the elderly. A hole around the rock had been dug at least ten meters deep, but the end was still not in sight._

Bellatrix looked up again. Cissy was really trembling now, but then again she was a baby who was scared of her own shadow. Andie had her eyes locked on her as she sipped her tea.

_I could see what it was then: not a mere rock, but a carved obelisk standing fierce and ominous, covered with runes now glowing an angry green. Its magic still lay far beneath the Earth. I could feel it... and its pull. It wanted us to find it. The obelisk wanted us to benefit from it!_

_And so we worked. And we worked. And we worked. Around me, the bodies of some of my fellow villagers lay either exhausted or dead. No matter. Their sacrifice will be remembered after we claim the new magic._

_'New magic... new magic... new magic...' we all chanted in unison. The obelisk loves us. The obelisk wants to bestow its gifts on us because it loves us. All we have to do is to free it, so we can love_ it _too._

_So we dug. And we dug. Until, finally, we found the doorway. Cavernous and ominous, but oddly welcoming. The obelisk stood freed now, proud and fierce with runes aglow. The new magic is ahead of us now and we are ready to step inside as a group. Some of use have gathered the bodies of the fallen so they might benefit even in death._

_Yet... part of me hesitates as I take a slight hesitant step into the darkness. A part of me is filled with mortal dread, yet I cannot fathom why. Like a cow that has glimpsed the inside of a slaughterhouse, I cannot grasp the context or nature of my doom, but I know enough to be filled with mortal dread._

_But any fear is mercifully stripped away from me with every step taken as the pull of the new magic gets ever stronger._

_'New magic... new magic...' we all chant as we all step into the obelisk's loving embrace. And forget everything."_

"Whoa," Andie smiled. "That was a good one!"

"Great," Cissy muttered. "A mind-controlling obelisk. I'll be having nightmares all week!"

"That was good, cherie," replied Achille.

Bellatrix bit her lip a little. "It's, uhm, just a few scribblings."

"Don't be modest, Bella," Andie chuckled. "It doesn't suit you."

All the while Achille had been working his sketchbook again and turned it around to show the girls: a quick and dirty sketch of a group of people working hard to dig out a rather ominous looking obelisk out of the earth. Bellatrix smiled when she saw it, getting somewhat excited that her oncle might be turning that sketch into a painting later.

Unfortunately, all bliss quickly came to an end when their parents entered the cafe. Their business apparently concluded, Cygnus and Druella came in. Unfortunately, her father took only one look at the book in Bellatrix' hand and the sketch on the table and turned towards Achille, who swiftly rose from the table and stood between them. Cygnus' voice as low and filled with anger. "Why am I not surprised to find you filling my daughters' heads with nonsense?"

"Nonsense?" Achille crossed his arms. "Creativity. Enjoyment. Are these nonsense now, hm?"

"By Merlin's beard, you are a waste of space, Achille!" Cygnus roared. "You sire no offspring! You don't expand magical knowledge! All you do is paint all bloody day long without a goddamn care in the world!"

Bellatrix grit her teeth, narrowed her eyes and shot forward. "That's not true! Oncle is a celebrated artist! He creates beautiful things! What have _you_ ever created?!"

Oncle held out his arm in front of Bellatrix's chest and slowly herded her back, away from her father. "Cherie!" he spoke, silencing her.

Though momentarily stricken by Bellatrix' words, Cygnus merely sighed and shook his head. "Again your nasty habit of poisoning my own children's minds against me rears its ugly head. I shouldn't be surprised," Cygnus sighed.

Unfortunately, despite Achille keeping the two of them apart, Bellatrix stood close enough for her father to make a grab for her book. "Hey!" Bellatrix protested while her father held it.

"This needs to stop!" her father demanded while he held up the book, just out of reach. "Bellatrix, you must focus on your future and not drown yourself in idle fantasies! Or you'll end up just like him! A useless layabout who wastes his days locked away alone in an attic globbing paint on a bit of canvas!"

Bellatrix almost chuckled: her father had no idea just how appealing what he had just described sounded to her. Regardless, that notebook contained all her recent work and plenty of story ideas and she was loathe to lose it. She was about to plead for its return when oncle Achille took a few steps towards her father until he was so close to him that they were mere inches away. There was a calm yet dangerous look on Achille's face, a look Bellatrix had never seen before.

"Give... it... back..." oncle Achille hissed through clenched teeth.

"J'en ai assez!" Druella shouted at the top of her lungs. "Can't we 'ave a simple family outing without the two of you 'aving a go at each other?! Just once?! Cygnus, give Bellatrix 'er book back!"

"Ella!"

"Do it!" Druella demanded. "Mon dieu, it's just a few stories! Bellatrix writing some frightening tales isn't going to ruin her life! We both know it's not about her stories either, Cygnus!"

Cygnus, now fairly enraged, thrust the flat of the book into Bellatrix's chest and stomped out of the cafe, apparently to calm down. Bellatrix took hold of her prize and quickly put it back in her purse while oncle and her mother looked at each other. "Achille," Druella sighed. "Must you always antagonize Cygnus so?"

"Hm," Achille rolled his eyes. "Maybe if he'd stop being an English asshole, I'd stop taunting 'im."

"I'd... I'd better go after him," Druella sighed. "Watch the girls a bit longer, non?"

And so the four of them sat the table in silence for a bit, the outburst having put a bit of a damper on the cheer. Cissy was actually trembling a bit, while Andie stared in her tea. Bellatrix turned to her oncle. "Why did you let him yell at you like that?" she asked.

Achille chuckled. "Eh. 'Appens when two people are as different as I and your father," he said. "'E's right. I never 'ad children. Never wanted to. Too much 'assle. That's fine in France, but English pure-bloods rather look down on that. Worse thing is, is that 'e's doing all of this out love and wants the best for you three... and this is apparently what 'e thinks is the best for you. Your father fears 'aving me around will 'ave you three turn into _me_."

"That's not so bad," Andie replied.

Achille chuckled. "Don't let your father 'ear you say that."

Bellatrix let out a sigh. Now that the commotion was over, she sank back into the booth and popped the last bit of scone in her mouth. After crewing for a bit, she shook her head. "So much for our fun family gathering today."

* * *

London Zoo was just as Hermione remembered it. When she was a little girl, she loved coming here with parents or the few friends she had, staring wide eyed and full of awe at the elephants or the giraffes, pointing at the lions or laughing at the monkeys.

Nostalgia was a powerful force and being here with her parents, surrounded in a place she had loved in her youth, was making her feel as if she was a human being again after the major setback she had had last night.

Hermione enjoyed leaning on the railing to watch into the kangaroo enclosure. As the animals hopped around, the young witch couldn't help but smile at their antics. With the exception of one bad moment, for the past few days she had spent with her parents she felt like she had been slowly crawling up out of a pit to take a gasp of breath as some sense of normality.

It was the way she felt whenever she was talking to Trix, oddly enough. Strange how it had taken this experience at the zoo with her parents to realize that. For now, however, she wouldn't question either and would simply enjoy the feeling for as long as it lasted. Truth be told, part of her never wanted this day to ever end.

They moved to the reptile house, undoubtedly passing the enclosure where Harry had first discovered his magical abilities. Unlike other most girls her age, she had never minded her cold-blooded scaly friends. As a child, she had begged her parents for a bearded dragon as a pet. Unfortunately between her mother's fear of anything with scales and her father allergies, a pet of any kind had never been in the cards while growing up.

It was getting near closing time now and she and her parents were slowly moving towards the exit which, conveniently and cynically, forced them to move through the gift-shop first. They would have dinner at a fancy Japanese restaurant and then maybe watch a film at home. All-in-all, today was a very good day.

"It's good to see some colour come back to your cheeks, puppet," her father smiled when they stopped at the penguin enclosure for a moment. Together they watched the birds as they glided through the water below them.

"I've been doing a little better the past few days," replied Hermione.

"I am loathe to send you back to that horrible school," said her father.

"Jack..." her mother started.

Her father ignored her mother. "Won't you stay with us a little longer?"

Hermione shook her head. "I do have to return to school. Finish my coursework. You know I can never leave anything unfinished."

"Why not?" Jack muttered. "Your other friends did. When they left you there."

"That's not fair dad," said Hermione, her voice sincere. "They have lives of their own and they went through the same thing I did. I don't begrudge them anything."

Hermione knew that was a lie. Hermione knew that she felt abandoned, in a somewhat irrational way. Her father seemed pensive, but Hermione had one more thing to add. "Besides, I won't be alone," Hermione started as the three of them moved towards the gift shop. "There is... someone."

"Oh?" asked her mother, her interest obviously piqued "Someone we have met?"

"No," Hermione shook her head. "There's this girl. It's... complicated."

"A girl, hm?" her father chuckled.

"Not like that!" Hermione admonished him with a brief stare. "She's... a friend. We talk often. She... she and I are a lot alike in many ways and very different in others. I rather look forward to talking to her again. I always do."

She couldn't help but notice her parents exchanging another look, causing Hermione to narrow her eyes. "It's not like that!" she pressed home.

"It's alright if it is, sweetie," said her mother, but a harsh glare from Hermione silenced further discussion.

"Well, at least it's good to know you won't feel alone," said her father. "Having a friend or otherwise will really help you."

Her father hit it right on the nail there: ever since she had met Trix, the younger Bellatrix, she had been feeling a lot better. And maybe, just maybe, she really _was_ helping herself by helping Trix. The thought alone brought a smile to her face, a little something that didn't go unnoticed by her parents just as they stepped through the gift-shop and were met with terribly overpriced knick-knacks. Around them, children were yelling at their parents for stuffed of plastic animals. Hermione didn't really see anything which captured her fancy, but she did want to have a reminder of the fun day. Perhaps one of those ballcaps with the London Zoo logo on it or one of the small coin purses. Something useful too.

"I got something nice for you," Hermione heard and almost had her jaw drop to the ground when she saw her father holding a life-sized plush Siberian tiger in his hands.

"Dad!"

"You've always wanted one when you were little," said her father. "Now I'm getting you one. A little late, certainly, but better late than never."

"Dad, that thing costs three-hundred quid!"

"So? Is me own money, innit?" said her father and pushed the tiger in her hands, almost knocking her over in fact. The tiger was very soft and fluffy, but also quite heavy. "Now you'll have something to cuddle at night, even if your girlfriend won't."

"Trix is _not_ my girlfriend!" Hermione protested, almost involuntary rubbing her cheek against the soft fluffy tiger while her father paid for it at the till. Her expression softened quickly. "Thanks dad, mum. For the tiger and for spending the week with me. I really needed it."

"Next time, bring your friend," said her mother. "We'd love to meet her."

Hermione wasn't quite sure how to tell her that her friend didn't even live in the same time period as she did. Still, she supposed she appreciated the sentiment. "Perhaps, one day," replied Hermione as she left the Zoo holding her tiger in front of her. "Uhm, dad, do we have somewhere to put this thing?"

"Hm," said her father. "I was about to say we put it in the boot until we get back from the restaurant, but I just remembered we came here by tube. Did not think this through, did I?"

"Let's just get an extra seat at the table when we get to the restaurant," her mother helpfully suggested while Hermione slung the tiger over her shoulder, almost causing her to tip over.


	11. Winding Down

On the last day of their well-deserved autumn holiday, the three Black sisters decided to do something fun and nostalgic. They would be adventurous, outdoorsy and rugged! They would rough it in the wilds and, like the old days, would pitch their family tent and sleep under the stars in the great outdoors!

On their lawn.

Ten feet from the front door of their manor.

With Sebastian the butler in earshot in case they wanted tea.

After their tent had been set up, Bellatrix had laid out the sleeping bag. There was one sleeping bag for all three of them to fit in, just like they had when they were little girls. Unfortunately, they weren't little girls anymore, a fact which become painfully obvious as the three of them were struggling to all fit inside the single sleeping bag.

"Ow!" Bellatrix swore. "Whose elbow was that?!"

"Sorry!" said Cissy and Andie at the same time.

"Well, whoever is the owner of the elbow, get it out of my side!" Bellatrix muttered as she stretched and moved further to the side, only to find herself being kneed in the back. "OW!"

"Sorry, that was me," said Andie. "Was trying to turn."

"Aaaah, we need a bigger sleeping bag!" Cissy muttered. "My hair's going to look a mess tomorrow."

"Try not to break my spine on your next turn, Andie," Bellatrix said, rolling her eyes.

"Okay, I'll just break your leg instead," Andie giggled.

Bellatrix struggled to get comfortable and lay on her back. Together, the three sisters looked up through the transparent canvas and the clear sky above. Though it was autumn, the tent was enchanted to radiate a room-temperature heat and would keep the sisters comfortable during the night.

"This was easier when we were smaller girls," said Bellatrix. "The tent seemed so much bigger then. The world seemed bigger too."

"We're women now," said Andie. "Well, you and I are, Bella. Cissy's still a baby."

"Hey!" Cissy protested, elbowing Andie for good measure. Unfortunately, this move rippled through the sleeping bag, causing Bellatrix to grimace slightly at the sudden move.

"Okay, stop moving or I'll hex you both into oblivion!" Bellatrix hissed. At least her sisters stopped doing whatever it was they'd been doing for now. The three of them watched the sky for a moment, getting comfortable for the night. The stars were out and bright with nary a cloud overhead.

"This is nice," said Cissy.

"It is," said Andie.

"I might be one of if not _the_ last time we'll get to do this," said Bellatrix with a bit of a melancholic tone.

"Don't say that, Bella," replied Andie. "Whatever happens, we'll always be sisters. The three of us have an unbreakable bond."

Bellatrix bit her lip and kept her eyes pointed skyward. "I hope so," she said. "I doubt my 'future husband' will approve of me sleeping on the lawn with my sisters."

"I wonder who father will pick for me and Cissy," Andie muttered. "I can't say I like the idea of an arranged marriage."

"As long as it's Lucius, I'm fine!" Cissy raved, causing Bellatrix to roll her eyes.

"Playing kissy-face with Lucius behind the dragon statue again, hm?" Bellatrix chuckled. Another ripple was being sent through the sleeping bag as a result.

"Dad should have matched you and Evelyn," said Andie. "You two were great together."

"As girlfriends, sure," replied Bellatrix. "As wives? I don't know. Besides, dad wouldn't have gone for a Greengrass if a Lestrange is available. 'Better pedigree' or rot like that. You know what's worse, though? Black pedigree is considered best pedigree. That's why Uncle Orion and Aunt Walburga were matched as cousins! Maybe I should be happy Sirius is only nine years old or I might have been matched with him!"

"Eeeww!" Cissy made a face.

"Quite," said Bellatrix, letting out a sigh.

"How about we just enjoy ourselves tonight and not think about the future too much," said Andie, apparently not wanting to think about whatever arranged marriage was in store for her. Bellatrix definitely couldn't blame her for that. So they lay there in silence, watching the stars while the crickets in the underbrush sang their song.

Funny how her thoughts kept drifting back towards Hermione: the girl whom had become such a good friend in such short a time. Bellatrix wondered how her friend was doing, if she was enjoying herself back home. Of course, she'd hear all about it tomorrow evening.

Thoughts about Hermione drove her to another point, though. The plucky young Bellatrix knew that Hermione had a tendency to put a brave face on, but couldn't hide the sadness within her: something had happened to Hermione recently. Something bad. Something she had yet to deal with, if even she could.

Perhaps Bellatrix could help her somehow. Perhaps this one last adventure she was having was something of a way to help Hermione too. An adventure they could share together, just the two of them.

As her sisters were drifting off to sleep, Bellatrix was lost in thought once more. It almost frightened her just how forward she looked to talking to Hermione again, to share everything she had found and to see her face again.

Slowly but surely, Bellatrix drifted off to a dreamless sleep, all worries disappearing into a blissful night.

* * *

The Burrow was just as Hermione had always experienced it: cozy, homely and with that persistent feeling of magic in the air. Not to mention that there were loads of people around, Weasleys or otherwise, and they were all mulling around the living room chatting rather animatedly.

Perhaps she shouldn't have come. Perhaps she should have stayed a few more hours with her parents. Her father had particularly been against letting her go back to school. But she had to. For Bellatrix if not anything else. She'd fed her parents the same cock and bull story about wanting to finish what she'd started.

Typical. She had promised herself to do better, yet kept feeding her parents the same lies she had always had.

It didn't do much to improve her mood, though through no lack of trying from the Weasley family. The first thing which happened was that Mrs. Weasley showed her no sign of resentment for breaking up with Ron. She expressed this with a fierce hug and subsequently trying to stuff her full of food.

Still, as the party continued on, Hermione felt herself drifting into background. The sounds of the song and cheer became dull and lifeless as she became ever more withdrawn: these days she didn't really care much for being surrounded by happy people. Nursing a drink, she found herself changing position ever so often, gradually moving towards the door almost against her own will… just waiting for a moment to slip away unnoticed.

Unfortunately, her fiendishly clever plan was aptly foiled by the Boy-Who-Lived, who plopped down right next to her and patted her shoulder. Sighing inwardly, she realized this must have been how Voldemort must have felt during his time of defeat, with Harry Potter always turning up when least expected.

"Hey Hermione," greeted Harry.

"Hey."

The dull tone of her of voice surprised even herself. Still Harry kept smiling. "Not enjoying yourself, are you?"

Hermione shook her head. "I've not been enjoying myself for much longer than I'd like," Hermione replied honestly.

"Is it because of a… certain someone?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

Hermione snorted, knowing exactly whom he meant. Sat on the opposite side of the room, being the absolute life of the party, was Pansy Parkinson. Pansy fucking Parkinson.

Ron's new girlfriend.

Seriously, it boggled the mind.

"Yeah," Hermione narrowed her eyes, glaring daggers in Pansy's general direction. Something the other girl undoubtedly noticed, but was putting great effort to ignore. "How did that even happen?"

It had surprised her to learn that Pansy had actually fought in the battle… on their side, no less. Hard to imagine, really. Personally, she hadn't seen her do much of anything, but the battle had been so chaotic and hectic that she could have easily missed it and others confirmed that she, indeed, had been there. This is why Pansy, like many others, had not returned to Hogwarts for her seventh year which was a fact which had given Hermione no end of relief at the time.

"Pansy's been working as a junior analyst for the auror office to help us find some of the Death Eaters who are still at large," said Harry. "Ron and Pansy talked for a bit at first. Then longer. And they started having lunch together. One thing just… led to another."

Hermione glanced over to the girl, now chatting with Ron. She couldn't help but narrow her eyes: not because she was jealous, of course, since that ship had sailed long before. Still, she worried that Pansy, being the manipulative Slytherin that she was, had her hooks in one of her best friends. Harry, however, didn't seem to be in the least concerned. "She's really changed, Hermione. She's not the same person we knew at school. I don't know what it is which changed it. Perhaps the reality of the war, being out of school, not having Slytherins around her all the time."

"She's the girl who wanted to hand you over to Voldemort!"

Harry simply shrugged. "She was just scared, Hermione. A lot of people were. Life's too short to hold grudges."

Life's too short to hold grudges. Now that was something Hermione had become very familiar with. By all rights, she should hate Bellatrix for what she had done to her, for the pain she had put her through and turning her into the emotional wreck she had become. Still, whenever she looked at the younger Bellatrix, talked to her, listened to her hopes and dreams, she couldn't bring herself to hate her. Far from it, in fact. Should… she show Pansy that same courtesy? Perhaps, but she didn't think she was ready for that yet.

Thankfully, she and Pansy had avoided each other like the plague for the entire duration of the party. Pansy had been her gleeful tormentor for the past seven years and things like that weren't easily forgiven, despite her apparent change of heart. It seemed both girls were reluctant to have that conversation right now. A small mercy, that.

"I've been thinking about Bellatrix a lot, Harry," said Hermione. "She's been on my mind ever since I've had time to stop and think."

"I'm not surprised," Harry patted her shoulder for a bit.

"I've been wondering," said Hermione. "How things could have been different. What if she had someone should could rely on during her difficult moments? What if there had been someone she could trust? What if... I mean, how things could have been different if..."

"You'll drive yourself bonkers thinking like that," said Harry. "You can't change the past, Hermione. And you don't know if anything would have been different in the first place."

"Wouldn't it?" Hermione half-smiled. "I've been looking into her past, Harry. When she was my age. And I see nothing bad, nothing evil in the person she used to be. Something happened to her to make her that way, I just know it. What if that could have been prevented? Ah, perhaps it's just idle fantasy and I'm just driving myself crazy."

"I don't think you're crazy, Hermione," said Harry. "I just think you're trying to make sense of what happened to you. I do the same every day."

Hermione and Harry chatted for a while longer, but when she looked at Ron and Pansy looking very much like a couple in the early stages of a developing love affair, Hermione wondered just what the hell she was still doing here. Having to return to London to catch the Hogwarts express was a compelling excuse to leave. Hermione promised herself she'd apologize to Ron for leaving without saying goodbye later, for she simply could not muster the will to deal with Pansy right now.

The young witch fled into a kitchen to fetch herself a drink of water and planned to slip out the back door. After filling a glass by the faucet and taking a long sip, she enjoyed the quiet of the kitchen with the sounds of the party in the other room being more muffled: at least she didn't feel like the walls were moving in on her anymore.

"Are you alright, dear?" asked Mrs Weasley as she entered the kitchen behind her, just a tad fast enough to make Hermione think she had come in to see how she was doing. Hermione looked up and gave the Weasley matriarch a quick smile. "You... don't seem like yourself, dear."

Hermione shook her head. "I'm not," replied Hermione. "I'm glad to be here, don't get me wrong. It's just that... sometimes I feel as if I'm living past other people. As if I'm not in the same universe they live in them. Does that make sense at all?"

"I think it does," replied Mrs. Weasley.

"I... I am not well," replied Hermione, a clear statement. "I haven't been for months. I'm just glad you're not angry with me."

"Whatever made you think that?" Mrs. Weasley smiled.

"You know. Me and... Ron..."

"You and Ron wouldn't have lasted a month and you know it," Mrs. Weasley winked. "Be glad you're still friends, dear."

Hermione laughed in spite of herself. Mrs. Weasley was right, at least there was still the friendship. "Ron and Pansy. That'll take some getting used to. She's actually polite here."

"It's a surprisingly good match," replied Mrs. Weasley. "Pansy will know how to run a household like a tight ship."

"Perhaps," said Hermione. "Mrs Weasley, may I ask you something?"

"Of course, dear."

"What do you think about Bellatrix?" said Hermione.

"Because of your nightmares? Ron told me. She can't hurt you anymore, dear," Nrs. Weasley replied. "Nor anyone else."

"No, I mean..." Hermione paused a moment. "You went to Hogwarts with her, right? You must have met her. What was she like?"

Mrs. Weasley thought a moment. "I honestly don't know. I went to school with her, yes, and I must have been two of three years above her. She was uppity, arrogant and generally not very nice, but she wasn't a bad apple. I remember that she didn't have many friends, if any. That was not to say that she wasn't outgoing. I don't think it was easy for her to trust anyone."

Hermione nodded. Her own assessment of Bellatrix almost completely aligned with that of Mrs. Weasley.

"It's the tragedy of Slytherin, I suppose," Mrs Weasley continued. "Too many people who want to use you for their own gain and stab you in the back at a moment's notice. You bunch up quite a lot of those kind of people into a relatively small space for seven years and it can do quite a bit of damage to someone. You can somewhat see it with Pansy: she's skittish and guarded still, but it used to be a lot worse. But even since she and Ron have been seeing each other, she's been slowly opening up and has become more approachable."

"Are you saying that if Bellatrix would have had a friend. Someone she could trust... things might have been different?" Hermione asked.

"Ah, it's moot," Mrs. Weasley replied. "The past is the past."

"Ron seems to think she must have always been bad," said Hermione.

"Nonsense. That's a young person talking. Someone who doesn't know any better," scoffed Mrs. Weasley. "I don't think so. Sometimes even small things could make a difference. There was no one to help her when she struggled with her inner darkness. She was easy prey for the likes the You-Know-Who."

"Do you regret killing her?" Hermione asked.

For a moment, Mrs Weasley seemed deflated, pursing her lips and seeming miles away. "At the time, no. And I would do it again if I have to, in a heart-beat. But, ending someone's life... for any reason. Let's just say I have plenty of nightmares of my own, dearrie, and leave it at that."

The Weasley matriarch demanded a hug and Hermione had to admit that a motherly hug was just what she needed right now.

She rather hated keeping her chats with Bellatrix a secret from her closest and dearest friends, but for now it was necessary. If she was to save Bellatrix from herself, she would have to do so without interference. Hermione would go back to Hogwarts and see her friend again in secret.

And she very much looked forward to seeing Trix again.

* * *

Tomorrow, Bellatrix would see Hermione again. She couldn't wait: in a few hours, she and her sisters would floo to Leeds and catch the Hogwarts Express on the way back. Though she wasn't particularly happy about going back to school, the thought of seeing Hermione again made her more than a little excited: they'd have so much to tell each other.

With her luggage packed and stood at the foot-end of her bed while her sisters still packing theirs in their own rooms, she had some time to kill. On her bed, with pillows in her back, she spent some time working on her latest story.

She was just thinking how best to phrase the act of someone's ribcage being crushed by massive jaws when there was a knock on her door. Bellatrix groaned and tossed down her quill, her flow now ruined. "Go pack your own luggage! It's not my fault you're both slackers!" she shouted from the bed.

"It's not your sisters, Bella," sounded the muffled voice of her father from the other side of the door. "May I come in?"

"Father?" Bellatrix called out. She quickly blew the ink dry and stuffed her notebook underneath her pillow. "Come in."

Bellatrix frowned, still sat on the bed when her father simply sat down on a chair next to it and let out a rather awkward sigh. "Bella, I..." he sighed again. "I wanted to apologize before you left for Hogwarts. Clear the air, as it were."

"Apologize?" asked Bellatrix. "For what?"

Her father gave her a brief stare. "Your uncle Achille and I... have our differences, we've always have. But it's not right that you got caught in the crossfire. Of course there's nothing wrong with you writing your stories. Nothing at all. I was wrong to take your notebook from you."

Bellatrix frowned briefly. "Did maman put you up to this?"

"Hah!" her father chuckled. "No. Though she has plenty to do with it. I would very much like to sleep in my own bed again."

"It's fine, father," replied Bellatrix. "All is forgiven."

"All?" he said, eyes wandering. "I doubt that. But at least one small thing is."

An enigmatic response for sure. "Father?" Bellatrix asked. "Why do you hate oncle Achille so much?"

Her father snorted again. "Because he's a free-spirited bounder who doesn't care about anything important and gets away with everything."

Bellatrix looked at her father intently, studying his distant expression. Then it hit her like a flash of lightning in the darkness. "You..." Bellatrix started, her voice cautious. "You wish you could be more like him."

Her father didn't look her in the eye. Not at first. Instead, he looked towards the far end of the room for a moment, into the embers of a dying fire. Then, he turned his head and smiled. "Perceptive as always, my little witchling. That's going to serve you well in life. As for the answer, well, yes and no. No because if I hadn't done my duties to my family, I wouldn't have met your mother. I wouldn't have had you or your sisters, and my life would have been less of it. Yes, because, well, no duties, no wars to have lived through, not being faced with the tough decisions and…"

Her father shifted uncomfortably, and from his expression Bellatrix could see he was torn. "Bellatrix," she spoke. "Make me a promise. Promise me that what I am about to tell you will never leave this room."

Bellatrix nodded. Judging from her father's tone, this was something quite serious. "I promise."

"Good," said her father. "I know you are a young woman of your word. You know of your uncle Alphard? My older brother?"

"He was exiled from House Black by uncle Orion," said Bellatrix.

"Yes, he was," said her father, taking a moment to pat her on the knee. "Alphard has... a kind soul. He taught me my first spell, you know? We ran around Catterborough Woodhouse always looking for mischief. Oh, the pranks we pulled on your aunt Walburga were epic! One time we replaced her make-up with wartweed powder and it turned her cheeks into a lunar landscape for a week. Heh, if you think she has lung-capacity now, you haven't heard her then!"

Having met aunt Walburga and having been at the receiving end of her lung capacity, Bellatrix mused that her father painted a rather vivid image. Still, he had a wistful, forlorn look about him as he started ahead, glancing away from her. There was a pain in his eyes, that much was clear.

"At Hogwarts, Alphard was always looking out for me and I for him. We had each other's back. We went to war together. WAR! Where were faced life and death together! We were brothers. We _are_ brothers. You don't shut that off, not even when your bastard of a cousin orders him to be cast out of the family and the rest of us to cut off contact with him!"

Bellatrix realized just what her father was trying to tell her. "You... you never cut ties with uncle Alphard."

"Not even your mother knows," chuckled her father. "You have cousins, you know? Their names are Morag and Malcolm. Twins. Nine years old. Morag is thin and athletic, unlike her father. Loves to draw. She's going to be a killer Quidditch player one day. Malcolm is clever and quick of wit."

Her father gave her an intense look. "You will never meet them. And they will never meet any of us."

Her father gave her a harsh look for a moment. "I know you've been thinking about running away. I know you don't want to be married. But I urge you not to run. Because Orion _will_ cast you out if you turn your back on your obligations. I doubt your sisters will give up on you, and neither will I or your mother. But we'd only be able to meet in the deepest of secret. And your children will never be able to see their own family or claim their birthright. Alphard is fine with this, but that is not the life I want for you, my little witchling."

Bellatrix cast her eyes downward, weighing her father's words. Yes, she supposed she saw the wisdom in them, but one question remained. "Why did it have to be _him_ though?" Bellatrix pouted. "Why Lestrange?"

Her father sighed. "If it had been up to Orion, you would have been promised to Cantankerous Nott."

That made Bellatrix' eyes spread wide, knowing full well that wedding contract negotiations had started right after her tenth birthday. "WHAT?!" she exclaimed. "But he's almost seventy years old!"

"Your reaction mirrored mine," said her father. "Orion told me if I could find a marriage candidate of equal or higher status, he would allow contract negotiations. Precious few fit the bill."

"Is there really nobody else?" Bellatrix asked with a small voice. "Anyone?"

"The negotiations with the Lestrange family took over seven years alone," said her father. "Only the head of House Black could break open the contract."

Bellatrix sighed. Orion...

"I might as well try to persuade a cat to bark," sighed her father. "I'm sorry, Bella. But take heart... any husband taking a wife from House Black always learns that the Black women are not easily controlled or suppressed. You least of all. It won't be the end of your life, my little witchling. You will thrive. Of this I have no doubt."

Bellatrix simply closed her eyes and let out a sigh. She had held out some hope that, perhaps, her impending marriage could still be avoided. Perhaps she should focus on beyond, what she would do once married, what tactics she should use to circumvent Rodolphus' undoubtedly harsh demands of her. She supposed it could have been worse: walking down the aisle next to a seventy year old man, for example.

"Bellatrix?" asked her father. "I must admit I am curious. Would you read me one of your stories?"

"You want to hear one?" Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"I'll have you know the ashtray you made for me when you were five is still on my desk."

"That was a flowerpot," Bellatrix chuckled. "I... just didn't have enough clay."

The curly-haired witch pulled the notebook from under her pillow and flipped through it while her father sat back and settled against the chair.

"Okay," said Bellatrix. "I call this one ' _Obsession_ '."

She told her tale. And her father listened. They shared an embrace.

Bellatrix was quiet and restless the entire trip back to Hogwarts.


	12. Examining the Window

The first day after autumn break was just like every other day at Hogwarts and students quickly fell back into their usual routines of classes, dinner, homework and whatever evening enjoyment they would choose. Still, Bellatrix had trouble keeping focus through it all. She went through the motions of her classes, undoubtedly giving the correct answers to questions she barely remembered being even asked while running all the things she had found about the magic pool through her head.

Truth be told, she was counting the minutes until today's witching hour. Not only because it had been a tumultuous holiday and she needed to vent a bit of steam to someone she trusted, but also because she desperately wanted to share what she had found. No doubt Hermione would approve of her diligence. She had been ordering her notes and her books for what seemed like twenty times today and had to do it twice because she had all the materials, including her oncle's painting, duplicated by Sebastian before she'd left.

By the start of the day, she was counting the hours. Right before dinner time she was counting the minutes. She walked through the hallways, still ordering her thoughts when she barely noticed being approached by someone. Still rifling through her notes, she bumped into someone, gave out an irritated shout to tell whoever it was to bugger off and kept going, only to be rudely pulled from her trance when someone grabbed her by the arm.

Bellatrix let out a hiss, drew her wand and pressed it against the offender's throat while protecting her notes by holding them behind her back. Only then did she realize that she had come face to face with Lestrange, him giving her a stricken look while he held up his hands.

Lestrange, the last person she had wanted to see.

"Whoa, whoa! Bloody hell, Black," he muttered. "What's gotten into you?!"

"Go.. away," Bellatrix hissed.

"I'm not allowed to speak to my fiancee now?" he raised an eyebrow.

"It's a business arrangement!" Bellatrix hissed. "Nothing more, nothing less. I've got nothing to say to you until the wedding. And quite possibly nothing after!"

"Look," Lestrange gave that annoying smirk of his. "I realize you prefer to make things difficult for yourself, Bellatrix, but get used to the idea... you _will_ be my wife."

The curly-haired witch felt every muscle in her body tense up, clenched her jaw and narrowed her eyes. "It must be so wonderful for you. To get access to my family's wealthy, connections, our... pedigree. You don't deserve any of it, Lestrange!"

Lestrange smirked again. "Bellatrix, Bellatrix, Bellatrix," he chuckled, but his voice took on a more sinister tone as he grew quieter, glancing around to see if there weren't any eager ears nearby. "I do have plenty to offer you and you'll change your tune when you see _my_ connections. Times are changing, Bellatrix. Soon, very soon, I will introduce you to someone. Someone extraordinary beyond measure! Someone who will change the world... for the better. Someone who can make blood purity mean something again. Once you see his magic, once you see his power, Bellatrix, you will _beg_ to be my wife."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes at him. No doubt he was posturing like he always was. "Whatever," she muttered and brushed past him. She had no time and no mood for his pathetic antics.

Still, the encounter with him had soured her mood considerably, to a point where she elected to stick close to her sisters the rest of the day, starting at dinner at the Great Hall, doing homework together after dinner and then hanging around the common room between the three of them.

At her dorm, Bellatrix didn't get a wink of sleep and decided to slip out of the castle a bit earlier than usual. After a visit to the Hog's Head for another lovely pint of ale… which she had to vacate rather quickly when that stupid oaf Hagrid entered the common room… she made her way into the Forbidden Forest. At the pool, she sat on the largest root and leaned against the pillow she had brought. It was definitely getting colder now, so the magically warmed blanket she had brought and wrapped over her legs was very much a necessity. Wearing a woolly hat, Bellatrix unfurled her scroll and started writing a bit. Inspiration came quickly and a whole new tale started to form in her head.

After an hour or two of writing, Bellatrix gasped in joy when the pool sprang to life and once again bathed the clearing in a magical blue hue. She put away her quill and quickly leaned towards the water. "Hermione!" she exclaimed.

No answer.

"Hermione?" she asked again.

Again, no answer.

She tried to peek into water to try to get a better look at the clearing on the other side of the reflection. Usually, Hermione was perched on the same large root she was currently sat on, but there was no sign of her.

Perhaps, she was just a little late?

So Bellatrix waited.

And she waited.

Five minutes passed. Ten minutes. Still no Hermione.

Bellatrix swallowed hard. Had something happened to her? Was she alright?

Fifteen minutes. The curly-haired witch was really getting nervous now, pacing back and forth while she tried to control her breathing.

Twenty minutes.

' _She isn't coming. Something happened. Is she hurt? Is she alright? Does... does she still want to be friends? Was it something I said? Is she still angry with me for calling her a mudblood? Have I ruined our friendship somehow? What did I do? What did I do wrong?!'_ she repeated over and over in her mind, torturing herself with endless possibilities why Hermione would no longer want to be associated with her.

Twenty-five.

When the time passed the half hour mark, Bellatrix was fighting back tears. _'Where is she? Why isn't Hermione coming?'_ The curly-haired witch hopped off the root and started pacing back and forth, running hundreds of scenarios through her mind.

Had something happened? Had she been delayed? Was she ill? Could… could something had happened on the way here? The Forbidden Forest could be dangerous, after all. What if Hermione was hurt and needed help? Perhaps… perhaps she could warn someone in the future. How would she do it? Yes, she could perhaps formulate a note for McGonagall to be delivered at this date in 1998 so they could go look for her if something was wrong. She already had the paper, but she had yet to write it.

She ripped a page from her book and started. ' _Hello, this is Bellatrix from 1968. I assure you this is not a jest or a prank. Hermione might very well be in danger…'_ Bellatrix grit her teeth and wondered how the hell she would even explain the Fae Mirror to someone in the future. "Relax, Bella, relax," she forced herself to calm down. "Even in Hermie is in mortal peril, she's still thirty years in the future. You have all the time in the world to get your note right."

When the clock was about to hit 3:35, Bellatrix heard some rustling from the other side of the mirror. The curly-haired witch tossed her note to the side, dashed to the pool and parked herself on the root and tried to act as nonchalant as possible, but was unable to keep the sheer joy from her voice when Hermione came into view, panting as she did so.

"Hermione! You came!" Bellatrix exclaimed before she caught herself. "I mean, uhm, of course you did."

Hermione, for her part, was panting heavily and needed a moment to catch her breath. "Sorry, I'm late. I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting," she offered. "I ran all the way here. I didn't get much sleep last night so I overslept today. I didn't mean to worry you."

Wearing a somewhat warmer muggle denim jacket rather than her robe, Hermione made a somewhat different impression. Honestly, she didn't look well: pale, with bags under eyes and the exhaustion clearly etched in her face, having all the markers of a woman for whom the wiser course had been to simply stay in bed that evening. Still, Bellatrix was beyond grateful that Hermione had shown up regardless and she saw past it all: to her, Hermione was an angel in denim.

"I wasn't worried at all!" Bellatrix lied. "I figured something must have kept you. Anyway, you won't believe what I found out!"

In the pool, Hermione offered a warm smile. "You certainly sound excited."

"Right," said Bellatrix as she held up a small wooden box. "In about half an hour, I'll bury this box underneath that root over there. You should be able to find it now."

In the pool, Hermione moved to the root Bellatrix had pointed out. "Here?" she asked. Bellatrix confirmed it and, after digging a little, Hermione fished up the wooden box and, after retrieving it and using a spell to unlock the box, had exactly the same books and notes in her hands as she had. For her part, Hermione seemed very much intrigued, especially when she took a look at her uncle's painting. Removed from the frame, Bellatrix had rolled it up to fit it inside the box along with copies of the rest of the books and notes.

"What we're looking at, what we're talking through," said Bellatrix. "Is called a Fae Mirror and they're really bloody rare. This had actually been the first sighting in the UK! Isn't that exciting, Hermie?!"

"A Fae Mirror," Hermione let the term roll over her tongue a few times. "Doesn't ring a bell."

Bellatrix was elated. Now was her time to shine. Now was her time to impress and excite her friend. "Grand-père did research on ancient legends from both the magical and the muggle world, right?" said Bellatrix. "Trying to determine how much was truth and how much was myth. He had labelled Fae Mirrors as myth until he found references in Russian Ministry accounts of magic forests, in particular the taiga woods in the Verkhoyansk river valley. There have been more sightings in Jiuzhaigou forest in China and the Sagano bamboo forest in Japan. The oldest known sighting in the Black Forest in Germany and the description is always the same: located in a clearing and among the roots of a long dead petrified tree. It always glows blue when it's active and, get this, all descriptions my grand-père found refer to the surface of the pool ' _reflecting not the surroundings, but showing a reflection of a different time. Sometimes looking forwards, sometimes looking back_ '. Just like it is in my oncle's painting."

"Good work, Trix," said Hermione, causing Bellatrix to allow herself a satisfied smile. "Wait. A. Rosier. You are related to Achille Rosier? The artist?"

"Yes," said Bellatrix. "He is my oncle. Mother's side. Apparently grand-père told him the myth of the Fae Mirror and he was intrigued enough to make a painting about it. He was my lead to find out more about the legend."

Apparently Hermione was making a rather intense study of the painting. "Trix," said Hermione. "Have you taken a good look at the painting? What do you make of the reflection of the unicorn in the pool?"

"Hm, good question," said Bellatrix, remembering that in the painting, a regular stark white unicorn was peeking into the pool and saw the reflection of a unicorn which was black as night. "There's no such thing as black unicorns. Doesn't matter if the pool reflects past or future, it can't show what doesn't exist."

Hermione seemed lost in thought for a moment, staring rather intensely at her oncle's painting while nibbling down on her lip a bit. It looked, honestly, rather cute. "Perhaps... it is looking through the pool at something else entirely. This warrants further investigation. Have you found the original myth the painting is based on?" Hermione asked.

"I have," said Bellatrix. "It's in a book called ' _Verlorene magische Geschichten aus dem Schwartzwald_ ' but our library doesn't own it. In fact, no library in the UK owns it, but there are two existing copies in the German state library. Curious how a book about lost tales is in the verge of becoming lost itself, isn't it? Sadly, I didn't have time to get it, and getting books from the other side of the channel is a complete pain anyway."

"Let me," said Hermione. "I can ask a friend in the Ministry if he could put in a requisition form for it with the German Ministry. Requests from aurors always get fast-tracked. Well, fast-tracked is a relative term, but it should take weeks, rather than months."

"I'll take it," smiled Bellatrix.

Hermione suddenly let out a sigh. "Oh, bother," she muttered.

"What?" Bellatrix asked.

"This is a unique and rare magical phenomenon and we haven't been documenting any of it since we've started our chats," Hermione sighed. "Honestly, I could kick myself!"

"Never too late to start, I suppose," Bellatrix replied. "But I think we both enjoyed our chats a bit too much to really think about the particulars."

"There is that," Hermione smiled. "Again, great work, Trix. I'll see if I can find out more on my end and share what I find. Seriously, though, the artist Achille Rosier is actually your uncle?"

Bellatrix chuckled. "He certainly is. I'm glad you've heard of him," she said, rather gratified to know that her oncle was still well known for his work thirty years from now.

"Heard of him? It's hard not to know who he is," said Hermione. "He's a celebrated artist and a famous recluse."

"Yeah, he's not very social," returned Bellatrix. "Not outside of his family, really. If you ever have the chance to meet him, just tell him you know me and he'll chat your ears off, no doubt. Might even paint you something if he's in the right mood."

Hermione went really quiet for a moment. "I'll keep that in mind," Hermione spoke in a soft, almost neutral tone. Bellatrix found that a bit odd, but was in too good a mood to pay much mind to it.

"How was your autumn break?" Bellatrix asked. "Did you enjoy your time with your parents?"

Her answer came in the form of a slight nod and an ever slighter smile. "It was good. Funny thing is that you simply don't realize how quickly time passes until it's too late. I've spent far too little time with them over the past years. It always seemed that other things seemed more important at the time, you know? I've decided that I'm going to join them on their skiing trip over Christmas holidays. It's been a while since I've hit the slopes, so I think I'll be a little rusty."

"I've never skied," replied Bellatrix. "Seems a little dangerous to me."

"Skiing? Dangerous?" Hermione laughed. "Trix, you are a chaser of a Quidditch team!"

"So?" chuckled Bellatrix. "That's not dangerous. The worst thing that could happen is that I fall off my broom for a bit."

It was a statement that made Hermione sputter and struggle to form a responsible. "At, what? Twenty-five miles an hour speed?!"

"Not nearly as dangerous as standing on bits of wood in the snow," pouted Bellatrix. "I mean, come on, Hermie, how would you even stop once you get going?"

"It's quite easy, actually," replied Hermione. "You just fold your legs a little so that your ski's cross a little and the friction will slow you down."

Bellatrix made a face. "That sounds like a recipe for snapped ankles."

"Falling off your broom from a twenty meter height sounds like a recipe for snapped necks," Hermione replied.

"Nah, it'll fine," Bellatrix shrugged.

"Anyway, how was _your_ autumn break?" asked Hermione, her face showing that kindly smile of hers.

"Fun," replied Bellatrix, meaning it. "I mean, once I got past the wedding rehearsal and usual bollocks. Got to spend a lot of time with my sisters at home, just enjoying ourselves, so it wasn't all bad. Had a good conversation with my father too. Oh, do remind me to show you Catterborough Woodhouse some day. Our mansion is a sight to behold."

The corners of Hermione's mouth formed a bit of a half-smile. "I'm not sure your family would like to have a muggle-born guest."

"Pfft," Bellatrix snorted. "I'll handle them. The servants are nothing but polite, oncle won't care, I'll keep my sisters in line and the house if big enough that you could stay there all week without even seeing my family once."

"I'd like to see it," said Hermione. "But there's a little bit of an issue."

"Thirty years apart," sighed Bellatrix. "And yet I feel we are so close together."

"Same," smile Hermione, just as the pool started to shimmer. "Oh, bother. I'm so sorry, Trix. I'll be on time tomorrow, I promise."

"It's fine, Hermie," replied Bellatrix. "Go get some sleep and we'll talk again tomorrow."

After the girls said their goodbyes and the magic of the pool faded away, Bellatrix set towards her final task of the evening, which was to put all the research she had done into the box, magically lock it and bury it underneath the root so that Hermione could find it in the future.

As she was doing so, her thoughts drifted back to Hermione and how relieved she was to see her today: no kidding, Bellatrix had really been worried about Hermione be it for having accidentally insulted her or her being injured somehow. And when she had appeared in the Fae Mirror, having that wonderful fuzzy feeling in the pit of her stomach. An angel in denim, such an apt description: Hermione was smart, witty and was someone who was willing to put up with _her_ antics... someone she could trust.

Pretty too, though from her chats she could tell that Hermione didn't consider herself to be a pretty girl. Well, she was wrong. That lovely brown hair of hers, those eyes... that brief cute little half-smile dancing on her lips she shot at her whenever she told her something which amused her.

She briefly wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips.

Instantly, Bellatrix froze, her hands hovering over the box she had just set in place to bury.

Kiss those lips?

Where had that come from?!

Bellatrix let out a sigh. The point was moot anyway, as she reminded herself once again that they were indeed thirty years apart.

* * *

Hermione had been dead tired all day and running all across the Forbidden Forest certainly hadn't helped. Truth be told, she simply hadn't slept well after returning to Hogwarts straight from the Burrow. Perhaps her encounter with Pansy had been to blame, she had first considered, but dismissed that theory quick enough. Though seeing Pansy again had reignited old hatreds, perhaps even unfairly, it was falling back into the same routine she had been since the start of this school year which had been bothering her.

Sneaking back into the castle and getting back to her dorm room was easy enough, but sleep deprivation was starting to get the better of her. At least her first scheduled class tomorrow would rather late in the morning, so her schedule permitted her to sleep in. This, of course, meant that she would have to skip breakfast, but she needed sleep more than food at the moment. Hermione had a few chocolate bars on reserve, one of which would cover her until lunch time tomorrow.

Still, Hermione knew that she wouldn't catch a single wink of sleep if she wouldn't take care of one little thing first. Prepared as always, Hermione sauntered over to her oft-used and loved writing desk and opened a drawer containing all sorts of paperwork. One of those was a requisition form for books not owned by the Hogwarts library. Normally, she'd fill these out and hand them over to Madam Pince and, usually, Hermione knew not to bother unless it was for a long-term project since it would be a matter of months before she'd get the books in, especially if the book wasn't even on British soil. This is where Ron came in.

After filling out the form to requisition ' _Verlorene magische Geschichten aus dem Schwartzwald_ ' from the German State Library, she picked up another scroll and started writing a letter.

" _Hey Ron,_

_I'm sorry that we didn't have a chance to speak much at the Burrow yesterday, but I still had a fun time there. So, you and Pansy, hm? Harry told me a bit about how you and Pansy started dating. Don't worry, I'm not angry. Just surprised! Next time we speak, you should tell me all about how it happened. I'm certain it'll be a tale of circumstance worthy of a Weasley and I mean that in the best possible way._

_Anyway, I'm hoping you could help me out. I'm trying to get my hands on a certain book and you know as well as I do how slow the Ministry gears grind. But if an auror were to requisition it, it would take six weeks to get here rather than six months. I've already filled out the entire form. All you have to do is sign your name and file it._

_We'll talk soon. And thanks for helping._

_Yours,_

_Hermione._ "

She put down her quill and started to blow out the candles. Hermione'd bring the scrolls to the owlry tomorrow, but she wouldn't be whom she was if she didn't have everything prepared in advance. But now, it was time for bed. Clothes were shed, a wash was had and her teeth were brushed. Stomping from the wash basin in the formerly communal bathroom to her bed as if she were a zombie, she let herself drop down onto the mattress and pulled the cover over her and her nightly companion.

The life-sized tiger-plushie her dad had bought her at London Zoo had not been given a name: Hermione was no longer a child, after all. But it was large enough to be a big artificial cuddle-cat. She wrapped her arms around it and pressed her body against its soft fur.

Nice. That was nice.

To lie in bed and hold something soft and warm, to pull it close and embrace it tightly.

So nice.

It only it could hold her too. Maybe if she flipped it around a little so its paws could simulate arms. But she was simply too tired.

Tomorrow.

She'd have the tiger hug her tomorrow. Sleep now.

Sleep. Sleep and dream that someone would hold her while she slept to keep her warm and safe.

Thankfully, she was out like a light almost immediately.


	13. Changing Fate?

Hermione couldn't help but shiver. Meeting up in the middle of the night in a Scottish autumn could be challenging. If the temperatures in late November were anything to go by, they were headed towards a rather cold winter this year. Though snow had yet to fallen, temperatures in the evening and at night had often fallen below freezing point. At least it wasn't raining today; yesterday, the both of them had sat next to the pool in the pouring rain, having donned raincoats and umbrellas while the downpour ruined all the clarity of the magic pool.

Thankfully, today was merely phenomenally cold.

It was hard to believe that it had been five weeks since autumn break: time did fly, as they say. Life continued on at Hogwarts and Hermione found herself going through the motions of academia while, in the evenings, Hermione would still head over to the Fae Mirror and neither girl had missed a single day. Cold temperatures nor rain would not stop Hermione from seeing her friend: having donned a thick winter jacket, an ushanka on her head and armed with a thermos filled to the brim with scolding hot tea, Hermione made her way through the Forbidden Forest, her breath condensing in the cold air.

The cold did cause her to move a little slower and she arrived a few minutes after three. When she arrived at the clearing, the pool already shone brightly with its magic glow. Glancing in the magical waters, Hermione found that, as usual, Bellatrix was already there waiting for her to arrive. The curly haired girl smiled brightly while Hermione propped herself up against the tree next to the pool.

Apparently, the temperatures in 1968 weren't all that much better, as Bellatrix was wearing a thick coat and a scarf while her long curly hair spilled out from under a winter beanie. A pair of earmuffs finished the image. Hermione took in the look of Bellatrix, her pale skin a bit reddish in the face from the cold: the curly-haired witch looked beyond stunning, and Hermione always got this strange, warm and fuzzy feeling in the pit of her stomach whenever she saw Bellatrix's face in the pool after a long day of school.

"Good evening, Trix," greeted Hermione as she unscrewed the top of her thermos to pour herself a cup of tea.

"Hey Hermie," replied Bellatrix. "Merlin, what a day. That idiot Prewett made a cauldron explode today in potions. I don't think I've actually seen that happen before ever."

"Goodness, was anyone hurt?" asked Hermione.

"Bunch of us got splashed with corrosive potion residue, including me," said Bellatrix. "Luckily, nothing got in my eyes or on my skin, but the stuff did start to eat through my robe to the point that I had to rip if off. So here I was, stood in potions in my underwear yelling and cursing at Prewett who rather miraculously never got a single drop on him even though he was standing right next to the thing! Dirk got the worst of it, though. Had a big piece of metal shrapnel sticking out of his leg. Visited him in the medical wing. He's fine and is bragging about his scar."

Despite the apparently nasty accident, Hermione was oddly gratified to know that Bellatrix had taken the time to visit a rival at Quidditch and even a muggle-born at that. She liked to think that was her influence in action.

"My day wasn't nearly as exciting as yours," replied Hermione. "For me the problem started right after dinner and his name is Cormac McLaggen."

"Still?!" Bellatrix chuckled. "After that dressing down you gave him last time? He's persistent, I'll give him that."

"Tell me about it, Trix," Hermione sighed. "He's been strategically placing mistletoe in the Gryffindor common room. It'll be like trying to navigate a minefield come Christmas Eve."

"Already?!" blinked Bellatrix. "It's still five weeks until Christmas!"

"And I'm going home for the holidays," Hermione said, fully intending to spend the holidays with her parents again. "So there's at least that. What about _your_ stalker?"

"Rodolphus?" Bellatrix shrugged. "He's keeping quiet. I think he's just biding his time since he knows…. he knows the wedding is coming anyway. At least he'll leave me alone until then, I hope."

"Working on Herbology project," said Hermione, eager to change the subject as she saw in Bellatrix' expression that she was not happy to talk about Rodolphus at the moment. "Trying to grow some Fluxweed, but I'm not having much luck. I don't know what I'm doing wrong, but I've followed all the proper instructions and all I get are tiny stems which die off the next day. Maybe I just lack a green thumb."

Bellatrix thought a moment. "Have you tried planting them during a full moon, Hermie?" asked Bellatrix.

"I have and... nothing," sighed Hermione. "I'd hate to have to wait for an entire month before I get another try."

Bellatrix seemed lost in thought for a moment and then suddenly snapped her fingers. "Alright, I have an idea. Go to the lake and search the edge of the Forbidden Forest for a patch of Glow Grass."

"Glow Grass?" Hermione frowned. "Isn't that a weed?"

"It is," replied Bellatrix. "So you can transplant it easily to anywhere. Just plant some Glow Grass in a pot and put it right next to the pot where you planted the Fluxweed. The light coming from the Glow Grass closely resembles moonlight and you'll be able to fool the Fluxweed into growing. Works one hundred percent of the time. Just make sure the Glow Grass is isolated from the rest of the greenhouse, though. It spreads like wildfire if you're not careful."

"Thanks, Trix. I'll give that a try," Hermione said. She was woman enough to admit that, while she had learned a great deal about the wizarding world and magic from books, she lacked the sort of knowledge and experience one could only have from growing up in the wizarding world: knowledge and experience Bellatrix had in spades.

"Hermie," Bellatrix started. "You're going to be very, very smug. I've actually gone to a muggle studies class, like you've been bugging me to do for weeks."

"You have?!" Hermione felt her eyebrows raise to her hairline. Like Bellatrix said, she'd been trying to convince her to just go to a class, something which her friend had stubbornly refused to do to a point that Hermione was about to throw in the towel. It seemed persistence had paid off. "What did you think?"

"I was always taught that muggles were sad pathetic creatures, but some of the things they came up with are really clever," said Bellatrix, her tone of voice betraying that this was a rather reluctant admission. "I'd like to fly on one of those muggle airplanes one day. They go much higher than brooms, even, and I'd love to look down upon the Earth from that high up."

"Maybe you'll get the chance one day," Hermione replied.

"And give my poor parents heart-attacks?" Bellatrix raised an eyebrow.

They chatted a bit more about the usual things: school, happenings, family. Until Bellatrix casually mentioned something which made Hermione's blood run cold.

"So Cissy's going to drag the three of us to some sort of rally tomorrow," said Bellatrix. "It's all very hush-hush and on invitation only. Cissy heard it from her boyfriend Lucius, he got it from Mulcibur, who in turn heard it from Macnair and who heard it from Rodolphus. Lestrange has been pestering me to go to that rally for weeks now and moved on to convince others instead. Almost all of Slytherin is going, so I might as well join them and turn it into a day out. The three of us will be going shopping at Diagon Alley afterwards, so it's all fine."

Rally?

And then the people she mentioned?

Voldemort. She was talking about Voldemort.

Hermione took a deep breath This was it. This _had_ to be the moment Bellatrix's life would take a turn for the worse: by all accounts this rally was where Bellatrix fell in with the future Dark Lord, despite her expressed reluctance now. And Hermione was right there to witness it all happen. If she didn't act, she would lose her friend to darkness.

"Really?" Hermione said, feeling the blood drain from her face. "Anything more?"

"If there's new magic being taught, I'm game," replied Bellatrix. The expression of her face was an eager one. "I'm not a stranger to the dark arts. You know this. And it's not as if they teach that at Hogwarts. And if it's all the load of bollocks, well, then there's always the shopping trip. Win-win, I say."

"Don't go," Hermione whispered softly, before she caught herself.

"Why not?" asked Bellatrix.

Hermione thought for a moment. How to breach this subject carefully? Perhaps she shouldn't tell Bella not to go outright: she'd known the girl for some time know and realized that telling her not to go would just give her more incentive to go anyway. But perhaps…. Perhaps she could prime her a little. "Bella, have you ever heard of Jim Jones? Oh, wait, no, how silly of me, of course you haven't. It hasn't happened yet."

Bellatrix seemed intrigued. "Is this Jim Jones a powerful wizard? I thought we agreed on not discussing future events."

"This happened in the muggle world," replied Hermione. "He was a wizard, in a way. A wizard at manipulation, you could say. Jim Jones was a faith healer and the leader of a cult who built a commune with his followers in French Guyana. He cut them off from the rest of the world and enslaved their minds. He had complete mental control over all his followers and they did everything for him without question. Eventually, all his followers either committed suicide or were forced to commit suicide on his word. Parents willingly fed their own children poison on his word alone."

Bellatrix had listened intently. "Bonkers. You think this is something like that?"

"How does he present himself?" Hermione asked.

Bellatrix rubbed her chin. "Well, he does call himself a 'Dark Lord'. That's not exactly normal, I'd say. What should I look out for?"

"Just be careful, alright?" Hermione said. "He'll try to present himself larger than life, paint a picture of a world that is full of problems which only he knows how to fix. He'll try to appeal to your vanity, praise your talents and tell you that you will be the key to the future. He'll preach about the good old days and how the world has become decadent compared to the old days. He'll probably spin some nonsense about muggle-borns stealing power from true wizards and witches… and then say you are a true witch whose powers are being stolen. He'll create a problem in your mind and then offer the solution to it. And the solution is following his orders to the letter, complete subservience. You won't be allowed to question. You'll be shamed if you do. He'll ask you cut those out of your life who won't follow him as they will 'stray you off the path'."

"Alright," said Bellatrix. "Ah, it's almost four o'clock already. We'll talk tomorrow again, okay?"

"Okay," smiled Hermione. "Bella? Be safe, alright?"

"Hey, you know me, Hermione," chuckled Bellatrix. "Safe is boring. Still, I guess I shouldn't play with fire. Catch you on the flip side!"

The pool's powers faded and the clearing was once again bathed in darkness, but Hermione wasn't left with the usual fuzzy feeling inside she felt after a long evening of talking with Bella. Instead, her heart constricted with worry.

"Be safe, Bella," Hermione whispered. "Please be safe."

* * *

The next day was complete agony for Hermione. It was a Saturday, so she had no classes to distract her mind. She found that she could not concentrate on any of her school work either. How could she? Right now, back in 1968, Bellatrix and a bunch of Slytherins would have their introduction to the man who would become Lord Voldemort. Some would fall under his influence and, if history was to be believed, Bellatrix was one of them. Her friend could cease to be her friend and turn into a pure-blood fanatic the likes of which the world had rarely seen.

Hermione couldn't eat. She was literally sick with worry and could not keep anything down.

Had it all been futile? Could she change nothing? Was history already written? Was she helpless to save her friend?

Restless and weary, she found her hands too shaky to hold her quill, so out for walks she went in hopes of clearing her head. Instead, she only came back more worried.

Eventually, she decided to skip dinner and headed straight to her dorm after preparing a Dreamless Drought in the potion lab, She knew herself well enough that a day of worries would lead to the most heinous of nightmares and she really didn't want to think of Bellatrix in that light at the moment... she didn't want to think of Bellatrix as the woman she became, but rather as the friend she was so desperately trying to save from her herself.

She took a glance at the clock Bellatrix had gifted her, still stood on her nightstand and ticking like there was no tomorrow. In fact, she used it as an alarm clock these days, perpetually set to 2:30. Though it was still lights out, she hoped just sleeping the hours away would help her.

Of course, she was way too tense to actually catch a wink of sleep, so she lay in bed with her plush tiger on one side and stared up at the ceiling. This wouldn't do.

Hermione kicked off her pyjama bottoms and settled underneath the duvet. She was alone in her room and didn't have to be careful anymore. Still, there was still a slight sense of embarrassment about the whole thing, so she kept herself covered by the duvet. Hermione was a healthy nineteen year old girl with healthy desires and was no stranger to pleasuring herself: one couldn't get through the night with books alone, after all, and pleasuring herself often helped her sleep better. Perhaps it would relieve some tension here as well.

She let her hand slide over her stomach and let it slip between her thighs. She closed her eyes and settled in, her fingers working their proverbial magic. Her breath quickened with every rub. With her free hand, she undid a few buttons on her pyjama top and slipped her hand inside. Her nipples were already hardening and she quickly set to gently kneading her breast.

Quickened breath led to sighs and brief exclamations as she quickened the pace of her rubbing, feeling the heat of her center.

Almost without wanting it, she imagined Bellatrix. Not the Bellatrix whom had tortured her, but the younger Bellatrix: the girl whom had become her friend. Hermione imagined the weight of her naked body on top of her, her lips pressed on hers. In her mind, Bellatrix was such a good kisser.

The hand on her breast was not her own, but it belonged to Trix. The hand rubbing her most sensitive parts was not her own, but belonged to Trix, playfully teasing her as pressure started to mount within her abdomen.

She imagined Trix kissing a trail down her body, lips on her neck, her breasts, her stomach, lingering at her navel and licking her skin. She imagined impossibly soft curly hair between her thighs while Trix lovingly pleasured her with a tongue that was playful and cruel in equal measure. She imagined Trix looking up at her with sultry eyes. She imagined Trix's fingers slipping deep inside of her, treating her to gentle strokes.

Release came far swifter than Hermione would have liked, accompanied with an orgasmic exclamation.

The young witch rolled to her side with cheeks red and sweat covering her brow. She pulled her legs up in a fetal position, her mind filled with embarrassment, wondering just where the hell that fantasy had just come from.

Suddenly, there was now a second worry to the mix. God, how was she going to be able to look Trix in the eye the next time she'd see her?

* * *

Hermione did end up catching some sleep and once she got up she practically ran all the way from the castle to the Fae Mirror. In fact, she was still panting when she almost collapsed next to the dead tree. She had arrived ahead of time and the pool was not yet active.

And when it did become active, Hermione got the fright of her life: Bellatrix wasn't there.

"Trix?" she asked.

No answer.

That never happened. Bellatrix was always on time, always there waiting by the pool when it became active. Anxiety gripped her by the throat. Bellatrix had been first and foremost on her mind and now? She wasn't there yet and every minute of waiting by the pool seemed to last an eternity.

For a moment, she was worried that Bellatrix wasn't coming. She closed her eyes and shook her head: had it all been pointless? Had it been the last time she had seen Bellatrix?

"Oh, Hermione! You're already here!" sounded from the pool. After opening her eyes, she found the smiling face of Bellatrix looking back at her. She had apparently just arrived and quickly settled herself. "Do I have a story to tell you!"

Relief washed over Hermione: Bellatrix was there and seemed to be in good spirits all round. "How did it go?" Hermione was almost afraid to ask. "At the rally, I mean?"

"Oh sweet Merlin, Hermione!" Bellatrix raved. "It went exactly like you said it would go!"

Hermione closed her eyes and let out a sigh while Bellatrix started to tell her story, a smile etched on her young face. "So, the three of us come to this magical tent set up in the middle of this field in the read-end of Cornwall, right? We were late because Cissy wanted to try out different colours of shoes for some reason and most Slytherins were already present. When we arrived, we were funnelled through this long corridor and there was this sense of magic going through it. It was sort of designed to make use feel as if we were approaching a powerful source of magic and Andie and Cissy were really impressed until I took out my wand and roved it around looking for charms and it turned out there were charms in the air to make it feel as if the magic was swirling around the place."

Bellatrix paused for a moment. "So we meet the 'Dark Lord'," she said while making air-quotes in front of her. "Now he was attractive and charming, black robe and everything, I'll give him that. Did his little speech about how the world was going to hell in a hand-basket, just like you said. Then he came to us. Asked if we were the infamous Black sisters he had heard so much about."

"Intriguing," said Hermione. "He knew who you were?"

"Not impressive," said Bellatrix. "My family is part of the sacred twenty-eight and he is looking to recruit pure-bloods, so it's not a surprise that he'd done his homework. See? I used my brain, Hermione," she said while tapping the side of her head. "I have one, you know?"

"Nice to see that at least some of the things I told you didn't go into one ear and right out of the other," Hermione smiled warmly.

"Oh, pish-posh," Bellatrix pouted for a bit. "Anyway, he tried to appeal to my vanity, like you said he would. He told me I was a talented young witch with so much potential for power and offered to teach me. So I started to ask a few questions, right? Simple questions like what his plans were and how exactly the muggle-borns were stealing magic without anyone noticing. If he was so convinced of this, he should have an answer. And then he started shaming me in front of the others instead of answering my questions. He said that I was part of the problem because I doubted his word, and then graciously said he would forgive me for the impetuous of youth. Then came the promises of power and a better world if only I'd would follow him. That smile he gave me was just so… false."

"So what did you do next?" asked Hermione.

"I told him that he was yet to answer my question," Bellatrix pursed her lips. "Never did get an answer either. When he saw I wasn't biting, he almost immediately lost all interest in me and moved on to his next target."

"I'm glad," said Hermione. "Uhm, not that he shamed you, I mean… Glad that you didn't fall for his tricks."

Truth be told, Hermione was positively elated. Bellatrix was smart; very smart. And just by putting a little bit of doubt in her head, Hermione just might have managed to keep the girl whom had become her good friend from making one of the biggest mistakes of her life.

Bellatrix chuckled. "Come on, Hermie, what do you take me for? Expect me to fall for some charlatan's honeyed words? I grabbed Andie and pulled her out of there. By that point, she'd seen through him as well. I just… I…"

"What it is?" Hermione asked with some concern.

"I'm so worried about Cissy, though," Bellatrix sighed, her eyes downcast. "She was completely taken in by him. Merlin, you should have seen the starry eyed look on her face. Andie and I tried to get her to leave with us, but she wouldn't. She's… she's young and impressionable. And she has that idiot boyfriend of hers who's also taken in by that 'Dark Lord' which is certainly not helping. I... Andie and I are going to have a talk with her later."

A terrible feeling came over Hermione: she had, perhaps, rescued her friend from a terrible fate, but by doing so, had Hermione condemned another person to go off the deep end instead?

"I'm sorry to hear that," replied Hermione.

"Don't worry about Cissy," smiled Bellatrix. "It's two against one."

"I would love to meet your sisters one day," replied Hermione.

"I know Andie would like you," Bellatrix bit her lip. "Cissy, though? Doubtful."

Now that the tension was ebbing away, something else came to the surface. Mainly, the fact that she had imagined her friend naked and pleasuring her the night before. Seeing the cheeky grin on Bellatrix' face had brought all of that back front and center. Instantly, shame and embarrassment overcame her as she lowered her head while her cheeks turned bright red.

"Hermie?" Bellatrix frowned from the other side of the pool. "What's wrong?"

Try as she might, she simply couldn't look Bellatrix in the eye. "Trix, I..." she croaked, her voice tiny as she swallowed hard.

"Oh, you did something naughty!" Bellatrix cackled. "Come on then. Share!"

"I... I..." Hermione gulped, desperately looking for a way to change the subject.

This was going to be a long night.


	14. Confirming fate

"Thanks for coming out with me to the lake today, Bella," said Andie as the two sisters sauntered along the shores of lake Black to look for merfolk scales to use for Andie's project in potioneering. As autumn days in Scotland went, it was a rather pleasant day with the sun out shining over the water. Though the temperature was close to zero, the company was pleasant and she could think of no better person than to spend the afternoon with. The sun would make the shiny scales far more easy to spot, though.

"Ah, it's fine, Andie," Bellatrix shrugged, bending down to pick up a few scales with a pair of tweezers and putting them in the pot. "How much do you need?"

"As many as we can get our hands on," replied Andie, bending down to fetch more scales to put in her own pot.

"We're both already members of the Slug club... why bother with this extraordinarily complex potion?"

"Because I want to get it right and want a high mark, of course," replied Andie. "Besides, _you_ would. Slug club or not."

"Fair point," Bellatrix crossed her arms. "You do realize that Slughorn has only invited us to join because of our family's wealth and influence, right?"

"That's not true," said Andie, moving a bit closer to the forest's edge. "Lestrange wasn't invited and his family is pretty influential. You have to have actual talent too or you won't get in."

"Doesn't mean we're not getting exploited," said Bellatrix as she looked over the lake for a moment. However, the plucky young witch was startled to hear a yelp coming from behind her. Bellatrix spun around, wand in hand, but could only giggle once she saw what had happened.

"How'd you manage that?!" Bellatrix exclaimed when she saw her little sister trapped within a copse of Devil's Snare near the edge of the forest. She had only lost sight of her for half a minute and then this. Thankfully, Andie wasn't in any danger since this plant appeared to be a small and young specimen. She was however, completely and utterly stuck with vines binding her arms, wrists and legs.

"Never mind how I managed this!" Andie hissed. "Get me out of here!"

Bellatrix snorted and raised her wand to free her younger sister, but suddenly changed her mind and gave her a mischievous look. "What will you give me for freeing you?"

"What?!" Andie narrowed her eyes. "I'm your sister, for Merlin's sake!"

"We're both Slytherins, you know how this works," Bellatrix grinned while putting her finger to her lips. "That box of chocolates. The white ones with the creamy filling? I want those."

"No!" Andie pouted. "Those are custom-made Belgians! I waited three weeks for those to be delivered!"

"Well, if you don't want to be free..." Bellatrix grinned, shrugging a little. "I'm Hagrid will come along in an hour or so. Maybe two. Quite nippy out here, wouldn't you say?"

Andie bristled. "Oh, you are such a rotter, Bella! Fine! The chocolates are yours, just get me out of here."

"Deal," Bellatrix said, raising her wand again. Unfortunately, during her negotiations, she had failed to notice the vines creeping towards her along the ground. With a yelp, she found herself hoisted up into the air, dropping her wand in the process. Scant seconds later, Bellatrix found herself just as trapped as Andie was. She looked up to see the smirking face of her younger sister, causing her to bristle.

"Don't look so pleased with yourself!" Bellatrix hissed while Andie laughed. The two sisters hung side by side and both knew better than to struggle. The entire forest was silent, except for the rippling water hitting the shore, the nearby birds and both sisters' calm breathing.

"How long do you think we'll be stuck here?" asked Bellatrix.

"Hagrid knows where we went," said Andie. "Might be a couple of hours before we're missed. He'll come to free us eventually, just like you said."

"Great, just great," sighed Bellatrix.

Andie turned her head towards Bellatrix smiling a bit.

"What?" Bellatrix demanded.

"There's something different about you," said Andie.

"Oh?"

"Ever since father announced your engagement, you were never quite a same," said Andie. "Always angry, withdrawn, or sad. It's like the fire you had within you died out."

Bellatrix felt her nostrils flare. "You try being engaged to a bastard like Lestrange and see how you like it! Merlin above, I'm expected to _bed_ him!" she muttered, feeling the familiar tears stinging.

"I know that," Andie spoke softly. "And I know that will be my fate some day if... if I don't choose otherwise."

"We don't get to choose, Andie," Bellatrix chuckled wryly. "We pure-blood paragons don't get to choose and the mudbloods do. They don't know how lucky they are."

Andie pursed her lips. "Bella, you know what I mean. Something's changed. I'm seeing so much of how you used to be again. The fire within you has come back. Bella, are you planning something? What happened?"

Bellatrix closed her eyes and smiled. "Andie? Will you promise not to tell anyone?"

"You know I won't," said Andie. And Bellatrix believed her: she had always maintained that her little sister had been too honest to be a proper Slytherin. She believed she could tell her at least something.

"I met a girl," Bellatrix whispered, almost regretting it.

Andie gave her a sly grin. "Oh. I see."

"Not like that!" Bellatrix retorted quickly. "She's... a friend. Just a friend. An actual honest-to-goodness friend! Not a toady or a social climber or a Slughorn. Just... someone who wants to get to know me for me. We've been chatting for hours."

Andie raised an eyebrow. "Is it someone I know? I would have noticed you chatting for hours with someone at school."

"No, she doesn't go to Hogwarts," Bellatrix shook her head, deliberately omitting the word _'yet'._ She decided not to say anything about the Fae Mirror or the fantastical fact that Hermione was yet to be born. Of course, that she was muggle-born would complicate matters further. "I sneak out of the castle to meet with her. I... she understands me. I can talk to her and she to me. I... I always look forward to seeing her."

"Bella?" Andie looked at her, head cocked sideways. "Are you planning something?"

"Am I planning to elope, you wonder?" Bellatrix muttered. "Or escape? If that would be possible... perhaps. But it's not. As it stands, I just want to have one last adventure before..."

"Lestrange," Andie nodded. "I won't blame you if you'd run away, Bella. And I would never turn my back on you, whatever happens. You'll always be my sister. Hell, I'd even help you."

Bellatrix went quiet for a moment. She knew her sister to be sincere, yet she dared not tell her more.

"You could do it, you know?" Andie smiled. "Escape, I mean. Carve your own path. All it takes is a good plan, some preparation. You're a talented witch and you'd have no trouble finding good paying work. And you'd be able to be true to your own self. Sure, mother and father would both get a heart attack, but you'd still have me and Cissy too, I'm sure of it. They won't exile all three of us."

Bellatrix gave her a piercing stare, mulling all of this over, letting it sink in. She had always been taught to put her own wants and needs aside in favour for pure-blood ideals and expectations. But it was a lesson which she had never quite learned as well as her parents had hoped she would.

"I told you," Bellatrix turned away to look over the lake. "Hermione is just a friend."

Andie never stopped smiling as she shook her head briefly. "No," Andie replied softly. "She's not."

Bellatrix snapped her head back to Andie, giving her a glare. Andie, however, was not so easily intimidated. "Bellatrix Black going to a muggle-studies class? And signing up for the next course?"

"What?" Bellatrix shrugged, instantly regretting that when the Devil's Snare pulled tighter around her waist. "I'm just broadening my horizons."

"With muggle-studies?!" Andie raised an eyebrow. "There hasn't been a Black in muggle-studies since... well, ever. And to sign up for a whole course..."

Bellatrix made a face. "I'm simply curious. It is not as if I will suddenly become a muggle-lover. If anything, it'll give me more ways to mock them," Bellatrix replied.

"Lie to yourself all you want, but I know this has to do with that girl you mentioned," Andie winked. "Look, I won't say a thing, but know that people are talking."

Bellatrix scoffed. "People talk about us all the time. We're the infamous Black sisters."

"It's not that," replied Andie. "Bella, when you went to that muggle-studies class, that turned a lot of heads. It's all over the school and there's whispering going on at Slytherin House. Apparently, it's really worried Lestrange too."

"Hah, good!" Bellatrix giggled. "Maybe he'll call off the wedding. If only. I bet he's still upset about me not being impressed by his precious 'Dark Lord' and me embarrassing him at that rally by calling out that naff charlatan for what he is. Honestly, he expected me to 'beg him to be his wife' and did you know that he cornered me in the corridor this morning to yell at me? Yeah, grabbed me by the shoulders and everything. Well, that was one way to get himself hexed."

"Just be careful, hm?" Andie said, face etched with concern. "He's the type of person who will seek revenge."

"Lestrange? He's a talentless coward who wouldn't even dare think about harming me. Let's just say that I won't lose any sleep over it," Bellatrix scoffed again. "Oh, and Andie? I still want those chocolates."

"What?!"

"I still want those chocolates!"

"Uhm, I'm thinking no," replied Andie. "Those chocolates were promised in exchange for a service rendered. The service was never rendered, as is evidenced by the fact I'm still stuck in the Devil's Snare, so you get no chocolates!"

Bellatrix pouted slightly. "So you're not even going to share a few with your big sister?"

"You were going to take the whole lot!"

"I would have shared with you!"

"Liar!"

"Bitch!"

"Extortionist!"

"Greedy goblin!"

"Trollface!"

"Gorgon-hair!"

"Hufflepuff!"

"Oh, that's just mean!"

Andie sighed. "Tell you what," said her sister. "When we get out of here, we'll get fetch Cissy and the three of us will have a good old-fashioned chocolate binge."

"Yesssss," Bellatrix grinned, but her expression quickly turned serious. "Just, don't tell Cissy about Hermione, okay? She never keeps her mouth shut."

Andie nodded in understanding and together they chatted a bit while watching the sunset, waiting for Hagrid to arrive to rescue them from the devil's snare. It did give Bellatrix some time to reflect. Muggle-studies? Madness, certainly, but equally intriguing. Plus, it would give her the opportunity to impress Hermione with some muggle knowledge. Cissy was another subject of conversation, especially after the two of them sat her down for a serious chat about 'Dark Lord Charlatan'. That insipid boyfriend of hers certainly wasn't helping matters, but between the two of them they seemed to have talked some sense into her.

Honestly, Bellatrix didn't really get why Hermione seemed to be so wary about this dork lord, though she supposed he must have some sort of sway considering he managed to wrap so many people around his finger. Best not to think about it.

* * *

Regardless of the embarrassment of needing to be rescued by Hagrid in itself, it unfortunately for Bellatrix and Andromeda took him much longer to come and find them than either girl would have liked. Cold as a stone and stiff as a board from hanging around in the freezing cold for so long, Bellatrix found herself sat in McGonagall's office wrapped in a blanket and holding a steaming cup of hot cocoa while Andie had sought the comfort of her warm bed at the dorm. Bellatrix would have joined her there if not for this summons, but the curly-haired witch too the opportunity to shift slightly to sit a bit closer to the roaring fireplace.

"Well," started McGonagall. "You and your sister have managed to get yourselves into quite a predicament, it seems."

With clattering teeth, Bellatrix took a sip from her hot drink before looking McGonagall in the eye. "You have a talent for stating the obvious, professor," she replied, not even bothering to keep the sarcastic edge from her tone.

"I meant no harm," McGonagall said, in a rare admission of what could be conceived as fault. "I would like to take the opportunity to speak with you. The scuttlebutt around the school is that you have signed up for a muggle-studies course. I was indeed surprised to see your name on the roster."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes, almost instinctively. "You too?" asked Bellatrix. "Why is the fact that I'm taking a muggle-studies course world news all of a sudden? Can't a girl broaden her horizons in peace?"

"It simply surprises because it doesn't fit earlier patterns of behaviour," said McGonagall. "In the past you've been quite vocal about your disdain for muggles and muggle-borns."

"I've said a lot of things," said Bellatrix. "Look, if you have any complaints about my academic performance…."

"None whatsoever," McGonagall interrupted. "Your academic performance has always been exemplary and far surpasses that of every single student currently attending Hogwarts, even your own sisters. You are, by all regards, the brightest witch of your age."

Bellatrix fell silent for a moment, letting the words sink in. Praise from McGonagall was rare, especially high praise such as this. A brief smile crossed her features, as well as a nod in thanks. She honestly wasn't quite sure what to say: it wasn't as if she didn't put any special effort into her schoolwork. She just… did her thing as it came to her. "Not bright enough not to get caught by Devil's Snare," said Bellatrix.

"An unfortunate and perhaps sobering incident, miss Black, which can happen to the best of us," said McGonagall. "But what I wanted to discuss was not your academic achievements, but your recent behaviour."

Great. Detention again, it seemed. Bellatrix sighed and pursed her lips. "What have I done now?" she almost groaned.

"It's not what you have done. It's what you have _not_ done. More precisely you haven't been a troublemaker for the last few months," said McGonagall. "You might have noticed me giving you tough assignments, both for your sake to keep your devious mind occupied and for the sake of your fellow students around you. But for the past few months there has been no need for me to do so. At first I considered that your focus on your stories was the cause, but that can't be the entire reason."

Bellatrix said nothing. Of course she wouldn't tell McGonagall about Hermione: their friendship, their relationship was a secret. Something which only belonged to the two of them. Though she had slipped a little to Andromeda, she had spilled none of the finer details and would never do so. And thus, she remained silent.

"Your apparent change of heart has not gone unnoticed," said McGonagall. "I understand mister Lestrange accosted you in the hallway this morning, the reason for it was you taking a muggle-studies course."

"He was pathetic," chuckled Bellatrix. "And I hexed him. I admit it. Give me all the detention in the world, professor, but I refuse to apologize to him."

"Though I do not condone the act of hexing a fellow student, I shall give you no detention," said McGonagall. "I understand the words he spoke to you were quite cruel."

Cruel. _Cruel?_ Unbelievable. Some baseless, stupid insults about her becoming a muggle-lover for not liking his 'Dark Lord' was something McGonagall considered cruel? Rage came bubbling to the surface almost instantly.

"You know what is cruel?!" Bellatrix shot up from her seat, slamming her mug on the desk miraculously without breaking it. "Cruel is having the course of your life set in stone by being forced into a loveless marriage, getting to terms with that and then meeting someone you truly care for! Cruel is knowing there is nothing you can do to change the path you are on no matter how much you want to! Cruel is that you and the person you care for are literally years apart! Don't talk to me about cruelty!"

Bellatrix breathed hard, rage in her eyes and staring the unflappable professor down. But as quickly as it came, it went. Bellatrix sank her to her chair and wrapped the blanket around her again.

Another voice sounded in the room, coming from behind a curtain separating McGonagall's office space from a small private library. The distinct voice of Albus Dumbledore. "Good evening, Bellatrix," the old wizard greeted as he emerged from behind the curtain.

"Head Master?" Bellatrix responded, offering a questioning look at McGonagall.

"I'm afraid we haven't been entirely honest with you," spoke the old Head Master. "Please forgive the deception, but we need to be cautious in this regard. I'm certain you will see why."

Bellatrix gave the both of them a curious look as the Head Master took a seat. A glance at McGonagall showed that the professor was clearly ill at ease.

"It has come to my attention that a large number of students from House Slytherin have recently visited a rally of a... clandestine nature. It has been said that you and your sisters were among these students," Dumbledore spoke calmly.

Bellatrix thought for a moment. Her first instinct was to deny it, but after a second thought this seemed pointless. Dumbledore obviously got his information from somewhere, after all. "I was there," said Bellatrix. "And it was a complete farce."

"I see," replied Dumbledore after sharing a look with McGonagall. "Thank you for your honesty. The man in charge of this rally, I believe him to be a quite dangerous individual."

"You are worried about a charlatan with a circus tent?" asked Bellatrix.

Another look was shared. "Could you describe your experience? Start at the beginning," said the old man, now taking a chair at the desk and tenting his hands.

Bellatrix nodded. "When my sisters and I arrived the rally had already started, so we missed the introduction. We were funnelled through a corridor and were overwhelmed with the flow of magic. Undoubtedly it was meant to impress those entering the tent. But after a bit of an investigation, I detected a cantrip which altered the flow of magic in the air to make it seem as if we were walking towards a great source of power. It was subtle, but it was definitely there."

"What about the people at the rally? How many were there? Did you recognize many attendees?" Dumbledore asked.

"There were about forty people, us included," said Bellatrix, putting a finger to her lips as she tried to recall details. "About half of them were from Hogwarts, mostly seventh or sixth years. All pure-blood. Majority of them were Slytherins, but there were some Ravenclaws there too. I'm guessing you already have a list of names."

Dumbledore gave a brief nod and prompted her to continue.

"There were others there as well. Older people. Most I didn't recognize, though Misters Borgin and Burke were there," shrugged Bellatrix.

"What can you tell me about the man himself?" said Dumbledore. "What was your impression of him?"

Bellatrix thought a moment. "He tried to appear larger than life and was charming, I'll give him that. But there was something off about him. He looked a bit sickly, especially around the eyes. Knew how to work a crowd, though. Talked a lot about the old days, about pure-blood and wizarding power. Fed me a line how I could be the future of the wizarding world if only I were to follow him. How muggle-borns were stealing magic from real wizards. I asked him for proof of this and he tried to shame me in front of the others. I asked for proof again and he just moved on."

Dumbledore and McGonagall shared another look. Bellatrix couldn't help but notice that they were doing that a lot... and that McGonagall was increasingly uncomfortable.

"It speaks of your character and intelligence that you have seen through this man's tricks," said Dumbledore. "Many do not."

Yes, she had seen through this 'Dark Lord'. That Rodolphus hung from his every word like a particularly foolish lemming did not speak wonders of _his_ intelligence.

"So did Andie," replied Bellatrix. "Cissy was a bit too enamoured by him for our tastes, but we'll talk to her some more to make sure she's changed her mind. I can tell you one thing, though: Rodolphus was not happy that we left early and he really doesn't like the fact that I wasn't impressed by his 'Dark Lord'. He proclaimed to 'forbid his future wife' from coming near anything muggle or mudblood. Well, he's welcome to _try_."

The old wizard got up from his seat and paced the room a little. "Bellatrix," he started. "What I am about to say must remain between the three of us. Share it with no one, not even your sisters. You must promise me this, for I know how close the bond between the three of you is."

Bellatrix gave him a brief nod, curious as she was, she would at least hear him out.

"The man you have met is a former student of ours, one Tom Marvolo Riddle," said Dumbledore. "I believe him to be one of the greatest threats to our world."

"Again, a charlatan with a circus tent?" Bellatrix raised an eyebrow.

"Do not underestimate him," said Dumbledore. "I would ask something of you which will involve a great deal of risk. I would ask you to go back to the rally when it is held next. I would ask you to pretend to have had a change of heart. Your family name alone should be convincing enough. I would ask you to gather information. On the rally. On the attendees. On Riddle himself. I would ask you to be our source on the inside."

Intrigued, Bellatrix shifted forward on her seat in such a way that she almost fell off the edge. "You... want me to be a spy?"

"If you desire to call it that," Dumbledore smiled, a twinkle in his eye. "But don't take any unnecessary risks. Simply observe and report back."

"Albus..." McGonagall muttered briefly. "This is not what we discussed..."

"This is a chance we cannot let slip, Minerva," Dumbledore pressed, a slight amount of force in his voice. McGonagall, for her part, seemed less than pleased and brimmed with... was it worry? Worry for _her_?

Still, this would be, dare she say it, an adventure! Some excitement! Being a spy sounded quite intriguing and fun. And all she had to do was to keep tab of comings and goings. People who fell in with that charlatan deserved whatever they got: she didn't consider it any form of betrayal.

"Why don't you take some time think about it," said Dumbledore. "We will not think less of you if you decline. There will be risk involved, I won't lie. Keep in mind that you will be performing a service to the greater good in the long run. But there will be benefits for your own sake as well. It is our belief that Rodolphus Lestrange is already deeply involved with Riddle's activities and he will not be able to claim you as his bride if he resides in Azkaban."

"Albus!" McGonagall hissed.

Now _that_ got her full attention. Regardless of McGonagall's protestations, Dumbledore had given her an opportunity which was worth risking anything for: a way out of this loveless marriage looming over her head. Elated didn't even begin to describe her: Dumbledore was right. Her father was sure to pressure her uncle Orion into cancelling their marriage if Lestrange was revealed to be involved in illegal activities and got himself sentenced to Azkaban.

"Remember," said Dumbledore. "Discuss this with no one."

She would discuss this with Hermione tonight, Bellatrix smiled to herself. Certainly her friend would be happy for her now that she had been given this opportunity.

"We will speak again, miss Black," McGonagall said as Bellatrix gathered her blanket and got up from her seat. "Albus, a word in private..." she heard McGonagall speak before she left. Though it was subtle, it was obvious that the professor was absolutely seething. Still, she cared not: a chance to escape from her own wedding was something worth taking a few risks for.

She was certain that Hermione would agree.

* * *

When Bellatrix rather animatedly and enthusiastically told Hermione what had happened that afternoon, she had expected her friend to be happy for her. Excited even. Not only would this be an adventure, but an honest-to-goodness chance to escape her impending marriage with her pride intact.

What she absolutely did not expect was for Hermione to grow increasingly pale while listening to her and to see the wild panic... actual panic... in her eyes.

"Hermione?" Bellatrix asked. "What's wrong?"

"Trix, don't go back," Hermione replied, her voice cracking. "He's dangerous. You have no idea just how dangerous."

"But..." Bellatrix swallowed. "All I have to do is simply pay some lip-service, keep my eyes open and report back to Dumbledore. That doesn't sound very dangerous."

Hermione cocked her head sideways, expression brimming with concern. "Trix, the very fact that Dumbledore is involved should be enough of a clue."

"Why?!" Bellatrix demanded. "He's a charlatan with a circus tent! Why is everyone so concerned about him? You told me yourself he's nothing more than a naff cult leader!"

It was then that Hermione went really quiet, averting her eyes and... not looking at her. That made Bellatrix swallow hard: she had never seen her friend act like this. Then it hit her: while they had plenty of conversation normal teen witches would have with either other, it was easy to forget that Hermione was thirty years ahead of her. Bellatrix wasn't insipid: this could only mean one thing.

"Hermie?" asked Bellatrix. "You _know_ something, don't you?"

The little tremor that went through Hermione before she caught herself told the whole story. "No," Bellatrix raised her hand. "Don't tell me, like we discussed."

"I want to," said Hermione, close to tears now. "Believe me, I want to. But I don't know what that will change. And if that change will be good or bad."

She could tell now that Hermione was very upset and frightened... for _her,_ she realized. Flattering, certainly. "Hermie," Bellatrix started, her voice a bit quieter. "I'll be careful. I won't take any risks. But I can't miss this chance. If Lestrange is involved in illegal activities and is caught, that would reason enough for my father to force uncle Orion to cancel our marriage contract. And that alone makes it worth trying. I promise I'll be careful."

Hermione nodded, still upset but somewhat calmer. "Remember," said Hermione. "I'll be here for you every step of the way. I'll help you the best I can."

"Nothing to worry about yet," smiled Bellatrix, giving her friend a sly wink. "This 'Dark Lord' holds rallies only once a month and the last rally was only a few days ago. It'll be a few weeks before the next one is held, so I'll have plenty of time to prepare. You can breathe easily for now."

Hemione bit her lip again. "Trix, I really can't," replied her friend, causing Bellatrix to frown.

They chatted a bit more and the moon continued its journey across the heavens. Thankfully, the other topics were less heavy and involved school, family life and the vagaries of muggle music of past and future, of all things. And as the magic from the pool started to fade, Bellatrix saw Hermione's face morph into her own.

Standing in the dark, Bellatrix was simply left wondering: just why the hell did everyone seem to be so afraid of someone calling himself Lord Voldemort?

Seriously. Lord Voldemort? What kind of a danger could a clown calling himself Lord Voldemort even be?


	15. Expelled!

The next day after her conversation with Trix about her going to spy on Voldemort in an effort to earn herself her freedom from her impending marriage, Hermione was in quite a state. She hadn't slept, she couldn't eat nor could she find escape in her academic pursuits for a sheer lack of concentration.

Hermione was quite literally sick with worry for her friend. Right now, back in 1968, Bellatrix was putting herself at great risk.

Or would be.

Or had been.

Or could have been.

Hermione groaned as she sat behind her desk, staring at the empty parchment which was to contain a report on the growth cycle of the common glowcap, a report she simply couldn't muster the will to start on. She tossed the quill to one side with an angry grunt: aside from being sick with worry, thinking too hard upon the vagaries of temporal mechanics was giving her a headache.

It didn't take long, however, for worry to make way for anger. No, not anger. Unbridled rage! Aimed at Dumbledore. Dammit, she had Trix convinced to stay away from Voldemort! She was safe! And then that sanctimonious old goat Dumbledore just had to reel her right back in for the sake of that self-righteous concept of the 'greater good'. And he had known just the right thing to entice Bellatrix to risk her life and future for. For all she knew, it was _him_ whom had caused Trix' downfall by sending her on the path to self-destruction.

Hermione leaned back in her chair, letting her head hang back for a moment: maybe the conspiracy theorists had been right all along. Maybe Dumbledore was simply using his old tricks for a different goal, but has always remained the same power-hungry manipulator he had always been and used people to further his own goals.

The young witch let out a sigh as she regarded the quill on the ground: maybe she was more angry with herself than anything. Hermione felt completely and utterly helpless: when she'd been with the boys, she could usually convince her friends to see things her way... and if not, there'd always been a big book to beat them over the head with until they complied.

That didn't work so well with Bellatrix. Not only could she only speak with her one hour in the day, but unlike the boys, Hermione wasn't smarter than her. In fact, Hermione had to admit that in some ways, Bellatrix was actually smarter than she was. Convincing Bellatrix to see things her way would be like herding a cat.

' _Think, Hermione! Think_!', Hermione forced herself. Maybe there was some sort of option here. Yes, 1968 already happened, correct? Perhaps looking a bit more into Bellatrix's personal history from around that time might help give some insight. Could it? Wasn't she changing things? Would anything still apply?

Argh, temporal mechanics again.

And then there were… the _feelings_. Feelings she could barely make sense of. How she ached for Trix every single day, an ache that could only be relieved when talking to her in the depths of night. Now the mere mention of her name made her heart skip a beat. How she'd like to pretend that her life-sized tiger plushie was actually Trix, the paws her arms holding her. Then… the more… physical… fantasies… Shameful fantasies. Thoughts of kisses, caresses and deep desires.

There was a knock on the door and being disturbed out of her concentration annoyed her to no end. Before she could stop herself, she aired her frustration by shouting out a vitriolic "FUCK OFF!".

The door opened and Hermione was startled for a moment when the door swung open and in the doorway stood McGonagall with one eyebrow raised.

"P-professor," Hermione muttered, her anger subsiding quickly.

"No need to apologize, miss Granger," said the professor as she strode inside, closing the door behind her. "Your frustration today is quite clear. In fact, Professor Flitwick asked me to speak with you: he's been getting quite concerned. And then there is the matter of a letter from your father."

"My father?" said Hermione. "He sent a letter?"

"A rather... strongly-worded letter," McGonagall pursed her lips. "Your father is angry at us for not taking better care of you. For not helping you with your current troubles. And for exposing you to a war at a tender young age. Try as I might, I cannot find fault with his arguments."

Hermione nodded. She quite understood: her dad felt helpless too. His daughter was hurting and there was nothing he could do. Even if it was just by writing a letter, it was a way for him to give a voice to these feelings of helplessness. Perhaps she should do the same... perhaps she should just tell Trix how she felt. Perhaps...

Hermione's silence was an invitation for McGonagall to continue. "Truth is, we _have_ failed you. We _haven't_ been giving you the help you need. Frankly, we don't know how. Mental care is something muggles have, but we don't. Merlin knows, with all the mad wizards and witches in our world, it is something we should consider. Perhaps you should take some time off and spend it with your family. Take as much time as you need. School will be here when you return."

The young witch let out a gasp. Though the offer was kind enough, she couldn't be away from the school. Not now. If she couldn't talk to Trix, she wouldn't be able to prevent her from causing her own downfall. This couldn't help. "No!" Hermione yelped. "I cannot leave. Not right now. I have to keep near Hogwarts."

"Why?" asked McGonagall.

"I..." Hermione fell silent for a moment and looked away. "I..."

"Miss Granger," said McGonagall. "I'm seeing some disturbing parallels with another young witch who used to walk these halls. Like you, she wouldn't eat or sleep, slowly withdrew into herself and tried to toss herself on her schoolwork to keep herself distracted. She went from a clever, vibrant young woman to a withdrawn and unstable recluse. It is one particular history I would not see itself repeat."

Hermione sighed. "You're talking about Bellatrix Black, aren't you?"

A slight nod was all she needed to see. This made Hermione bristle with anger. "Where were you and Dumbledore then when Bellatrix needed you, hm? And was her becoming a withdrawn and unstable recluse _before_ or _after_ you sent her to spy on Voldemort?!"

To say that McGonagall was startled was an understatement. "How did you know...?" she blinked, but soon resigned herself. "I suppose it doesn't matter. Yes, you are correct. We threw miss Black to the wolves even though we knew the risks. At first, she gave us some valuable information, but nothing which we couldn't have found out through other sources. At some point, she started buying into the rhetoric and turned down a much darker path. Something happened. We're not sure what or when. You're quite right, miss Granger. I should have done more. I should have protested Albus' plan. But I did not. And through our actions, we sacrificed a promising young woman and practically handed her to You-Know-Who, who turned her anger and power into a weapon for his cause. Miss Granger, if I could turn back the clock, I would. But the past is the past."

The past is the past?

Not if Hermione could help it.

"I'm sorry, professor," said Hermione, only half lying.

"I might not have been able to help miss Black," said McGonagall. "But I do want to help you. As of today, you are suspended from all classwork until I deem you fit to return."

Hermione blinked, letting those words run through her mind until she realized just what her professor was saying. "Are you expelling me?!" she yelled out in a panic.

"No," said McGonagall. "I am forcing you to deal with your issues and that will never happen as long as you have your classwork to distract yourself with. You have two days to make arrangements to find a living space. After that, you will be barred from school grounds until I say otherwise."

"I..." Hermione blinked.

"That is final," said McGonagall. "Deal with your issues any way you see fit. Stay with your family. Rest in Hogsmeade. Enjoy a vacation. The choice is yours. But I am taking away your opportunity to stick your head in the sand. We will, however, give you a stipend for the time being to cover your expenses."

A flabbergasted Hermione was left behind her desk while McGonagall gave her a nod before leaving the room.

* * *

"So it finally happened. Your worst fear has come true!"

"It's not funny, Ron!"

Sat in the common room of the Three Broomsticks, it was still a bit on the quiet side at 1 pm. Hermione's plans to continue classes and focus on her homework were effectively cancelled indefinitely. Still, Hermione wouldn't be Hermione if she couldn't adjust quickly and get on her feet.

She had gathered all her clothes, the life-sized tiger, a plethora of books and notes as well as all the gear she would need, tossed it all into a bottom-less bag and booked a room at the Three Broomsticks. McGonagall might bar her from Hogwarts, but she couldn't bar her from Hogsmeade. And Hogsmeade was, actually, closer to the Forbidden Forest. For now, it would be a good place to stay.

Ron came back to visit and was promptly directed towards the Three Broomsticks, where the two friends were now enjoying a meal and a pint of ale.

"I don't know what you're complaining about, Hermione," chuckled Ron. "Free from schoolwork and getting paid for doing absolutely bugger all? Sounds like slice of fried gold to me."

"It's just the circumstance of it all," Hermione muttered. "This is exactly what I don't need right now."

"Really?" said Ron. "Hermione, you're not the same as you used to be."

"Part of growing up, Ron. You should try it," Hermione bit back and quickly let out a sigh. "Sorry, I didn't mean..."

"It's alright," Ron chuckled, but his face quickly fell. "We're all dealing with the aftermath of the war in our own way. Still, I'd rather see you happy and smiling again... even if you'd just want to beat me over the head with a book."

"I'm quite aware I haven't been myself lately," Hermione muttered.

"No kidding," said Ron. "I hoped inviting you over at the Burrow would pull you out of your shell a little, but you hardly talked to anyone. I would have, but..."

"Pansy," Hermione chuckled. "She seems a bit... high-maintenance."

"Noticed that, huh?" Ron gave her a goofy grin. "Yeah, yeah, I know what you're going to say. It's just that... she was doing some things for the auror office, we got to talking about a case. Then we got to talking about other things. Then we went to have lunch together. It sort of escalated from there."

"Considering your family's opinion on Slytherin..."

"... and yours on Pansy," Ron added, to which Hermione let out a snort.

"Anyway," said Ron. "Not sure where this is going to go, but so far we've been enjoying ourselves. She actually gets along quite well with my parents and likes staying at the Burrow. I don't think her parents ever paid much attention to her, to be honest."

Hermione was about to say something, but quickly swallowed her words. Bellatrix turned out to have hidden depths and was not the same in 1968 as the woman whom had tortured her. If she could see her tormentor whom had scarred her for life in a different light, why couldn't she do the same for the girl who only made nasty comments at her in the hallways? Granted, it was seven years worth of nasty comments, but still…

"Seriously, I do hope it works out," smiled Hermione. She did want her friend to be happy. And if he could find happiness with Pansy, who was she to stand in his way?

"Oh, before I forget the whole reason I stopped by," said Ron as he made a grab for his bag. "Your book finally came in."

Ron produced a rather ancient and heavy tome, leather-bound and dusty, it looked as if it hadn't been moved from the shelf in decades. Embossed into the leather in gilded lettering was the title: ' _Verlorene magische Geschichten aus dem Schwartzwald'._ Hermione loved old books like this: the musty smell, the artful leather binding and how the edge of the pages were seemingly gilded as well.

"Not sure what you're going to do with it now that you can't enter Hogwarts anymore," shrugged Ron. "There's no return date, so you can keep it as long as you like."

"Oh, you have no idea how you've helped me, Ron," said Hermione while running her hand over the leather-binding slowly and lovingly.

Ron snorted for a moment. "Do you two need a moment alone up in your room?"

Hermione made a face and, reluctantly, continued on having her meal and chatted with Ron. After having another cup of coffee, Hermione said her goodbye to Ron and the moment he was out the door, she grabbed the book at ran upstairs to her room.

Her home for the time being was a surprisingly spacey room above the common room of the inn with a single large double window by the side of a two-person bed. A small, but perfectly functional private bathroom had a nice shower and opposite to the bed was an armoire. The room, thankfully, came with a rather comfortable chair and writing desk, one where which she had placed the books she had brought. The life-sized tiger found a home on the bed. As did the clock Bellatrix had gifted her, which looked just fine on the nightstand.

This forced vacation was a bit of a blessing in disguise: Hermione didn't read German and would need to translate the text in the book with the help of a German dictionary. That would take time... and now that her hands had been freed, she had all the time of the world to actually work on her translation.

And if she needed a book from the Hogwarts library? Well, she had a way to sneak out of the castle undetected and that would work perfectly well the other way around. For now, she was fine.

After scanning the index, she found the story of the Fae Mirror. Or rather, _Feen-Spiegel_ , as it was named in this book. The moment she reached the page, she found something odd. On the page, between the chapter title and the start of the text was what seemed to be a familiar looking ink sketch. Immediately, Hermione reached over to her satchel and unrolled the painting which Bellatrix had gifted her. Holding it next to the sketch, she found to be almost the same: a unicorn looking into a Fae Mirror and its dark reflection looking back at it. Furthermore, she checked other chapters and found no such ink sketch anywhere else in the book. She could only come to the conclusion that someone had drawn it in the book. Perhaps a young Achille Rosier had been idly doodling into this very book before committing it to canvas? She could only hazard a guess.

Almost instinctively, she touched the drawing. And immediately withdrew her hand as it if was burned. The lines in the ink shifted beneath her fingers, almost artistically forming into lines which in turn formed into letters. ' _Hello miss Granger. Please meet me at this address at your earliest convenience. Yours truly, A. Rosier. 31_ _st_ _of January 1982_.'

Bellatrix's uncle? And that date... that would be a few months after Voldemort's fall. And scant a few days after Bellatrix' trial and sentencing.

She quickly grabbed a quill and wrote down the address before the sketch returned to its original shape. Though she had set out to translate the original tale, this had taken an unexpected turn so far. She turned her head to the clock on the nightstand, and made a swift decision.

* * *

For a moment, Hermione wasn't sure she had gotten the address right. She'd gotten to Manchester by train just fine after apparating to Glasgow and arrived around 4 pm. Following the map to the address had led her towards some of the older districts of Manchester, where old factories and warehouses from the Industrial Revolution stood. Most of these old buildings, once the places where most of the cotton processing in the UK had been done, had been converted to living areas or upscale coffee shops. This single building looked as if it had stepped right out of the 19th century, waiting for scores of the working class to arrive to work their 12-14 hour back-breaking shifts.

It was a two-story building made from stones with a sandy colour and when she looked up, she was expecting plumes of smoke to emerge from the two chimneys. Its windows were large, wide and high. Fitting as a cotton mill needed plenty of light. She approached the large wooden double doors and banged the knocker. It remained silent for a long time.

Part of her worried that she had made the long trip for nothing. Achille Rosier, while a very famous and prolific artist, was a notorious recluse. I wouldn't surprise her at all if he would refuse to see her. Her fears were for nought, however as the sound of a heavy bolt moving behind the door. The door swung open but no one appeared. Hermione carefully approached the door and stepped through the portal. The door closed behind her and she found herself standing in an entrance hall. A small office was at the end of the hall, next to a few trolleys of packaged up paintings which were undoubtedly ready to be sent to those who had commissioned them. The occupant of the office was a small female goblin, immaculately dressed and currently writing in a ledger.

"Welcome," spoke the goblin with a high pitched voice. "Mister Rosier has been expecting you for quite some time. Please, step through the door."

Hermione gave the goblin a nod and pressed forward. The moment she stepped through the door, she found herself in what once was the cotton mill hall where the factory's machines had stood. It was now, however, filled to the brim with paintings. Beautiful paintings. Some were put on trolleys, others were prominently displayed. Aside from the windows, every bit of wall was covered by a painting. Multiple racks had been placed in the middle of the hall to display more paintings, making make-shift corridors in this large room. The entire factory was Rosier's atelier.

She was startled when she came face to face with a rather prominently displayed painting... of _her._ For a moment it startled her: Hermione stood clad in a school uniform, among the trees of a forest. The painting itself was quite large, some two meters high and one meter wide and framed in oak. What surprised her the most was the year next to the signature: this painting had been made in 1969, ten years before she'd been born.

"Hm," a French accented voice sounded near her. "Long brown 'air, cascading down 'er back. Deep brown eyes, expressive eyebrows. Creamy white skin, somewhat less pale than my niece 'erself. Fiercely intelligent, but somewhat unsure of 'erself. Slender, slightly taller than my niece. Likes to wear a school uniform even when she doesn't 'ave to. 'As this oddly bossy quality to 'er voice. Bellatrix gave a good description, though it was rather impossible to give the quality of your voice a proper impression in the painting."

The man who presented himself was thin and pale, indicitive of an indoor sedentary lifestyle. With graying hair, the man looked to be in his seventies, middle-aged for a wizard, bearing a white apron which was speckled with paint. The man quickly removed it and tossed it to his side, revealing comfortable muggle slacks and shirt. This was, undoubtedly, Achille Rosier, a celebrated and prolific artist in the wizarding world… but also a famously reclusive and private person who barely interacted with the public.

"Achille Rosier, I presume?" Hermione asked, extending her hand.

Achille Rosier took it and smiled warmly. "And you are Hermione Granger. Though I knew what you looked like long before I even learned your name. Bellatrix would not speak of it, but she did give me instructions for this painting. I made that for 'er, you know? She didn't want to forget you."

"I found your letter," said Hermione, getting right to the point. "Or rather, sketch. In the book."

Achille scraped his throat. "I knew you would and... ach, forgive my 'oarseness. I do not speak often."

"It's quite alright," said Hermione just as Achille pulled a white cloth from another painting. It was another painting of herself... with young Bellatrix. The two of them stood in the forest, Bellatrix laughing and Hermione smiling while the both of them held hands. It looked as if Bellatrix was trying to coax Hermione into dancing with her.

"That was one of 'er favourites too," Achille chuckled. "A fantasy, really. A dream. Before it all went to merde for 'er. Would you be kind enough to follow with me for a moment?"

"Of course," said Hermione. She couldn't help but feel intrigued. Apparently the Bellatrix of the past had shared some details of their impossible discussions through time and space with her uncle at some point. And her uncle had remained silent as the grave for almost thirty years. She followed Rosier out of another door leading into a small courtyard, surrounded on three sides by the building and one side looking out over the water. A green patch and a few trees adorned the courtyard, but the centrepiece was a marble column. A grave. Approaching, Hermione could see the writing on the column.

" _Bellatrix Druella Black_

_1951-1998_

_Rest well, cherie. You deserved better._ "

Achille set down on a small bench next to the grave and patted the marble for a moment. "I found 'er, cherie," he spoke softly. "She's 'ere for you."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat when the full realisation hit her. "God, is that..."

"Yes."

"But I thought all Death Eaters whose bodies were unclaimed were buried in unmarked graves," said Hermione.

Achille nodded. "I still remember my nieces when they were young women. They had a bond which we all thought unbreakable. After all that 'appened, I cannot blame them for not stepping forward. I think… I think Andromeda would prefer to remember Bellatrix as the big sister she once was to 'er. And Narcissa, well, she 'as a family of 'er own to think of now."

"But Bellatrix still had family left," said Hermione. "You."

"Correct. I claimed 'er body," said Achille. "In the deepest of secret. I 'ad some favours left with some Ministry workers in the right places. I would not see my poor niece buried underneath some tree in the Forbidden Forest forgotten and unmourned. Bellatrix Lestrange... people know 'er as a killer, an insane dark witch, Voldemort's most loyal servant. But you knew 'er like I did..."

"A smart, but troubled girl," whispered Hermione. "Someone who loved her sisters, dreamed of going on adventures. Academically gifted and with an interest in the macabre. Someone who managed to figure out a muggle clock and willed a working one into being from a single block of wood in three hours."

Achille Rosier nodded solemnly, turning towards the headstone. "You see, cherie? She remembers. I told you she would."

"What happened?"

"Thing is about Fae Mirrors," Achille snorted. "They come into being randomly. And they cease existing just as randomly. That one remained as stable for as long as it did was a miracle in itself. My niece loved talking to you. She looked forward to every conversation. Until one night she came to the pool and... it just didn't appear. Nor did it ever afterwards."

Hermione took a few deep breaths. "And then?"

Achile remained silent for a moment, glancing first at the grave and then back at Hermione. She could see the hesitation etched on his features, as if he was debating with himself to share what he wanted to share. A few moments later, he finally made his decision. "Bellatrix loved you, you know?"

Hermione gasped, many different emotions dropping into her stomach like a brick. Trix… loved her? Equal measure of joy and dread fought for dominance within her being as Hermione turned her gaze towards the silent grave.

Achille continued. "She didn't realize it fully until you were yanked out of 'er world suddenly. Bellatrix fell into a deep depression. She lost 'er only friend a few months before 'er wedding," said Achille. "Wouldn't eat. Wouldn't sleep. Threw 'erself on distractions until it wouldn't 'elp anymore. Sadness became anger. She felt abandoned. Oh, in 'er mind she understood, but 'er 'eart... my niece was a creature of passion, miss Granger. She became angry with everything, with the world, with 'er fate and with you. That anger turned to 'atred and 'er feelings of betrayal became projected on all muggle-borns. That rat-face Rodolphus and that lord of them exploited that when she was at 'er most vulnerable and turned 'er into a weapon for their own devices. And 'er parents, those two mouchards, just stood by and let it 'appen!"

Hermione swallowed hard, her breath quickening. Achille was gritting his teeth, angry but not at her specifically. He grabbed a rock and hurled it into the water. "They _sold_ my nieces! They _sold_ Bellatrix and Narcissa to pure-blood lines for the sake of alliances! And when poor Andie did not go along with this, they exiled 'er! I tried to plead with my sister to come to 'er senses, but she agreed with her con of a 'usband! Even told me I was never to talk to 'er again… Cygnus tried to feed me some cock and bull story about meeting with Andie in secret only! So I told them both to eat a baguette and moved out the same day. All that rot about the importance of family. It's all bullshit!"

Hermione nodded. It was good to know that the Black family had at least one decent member. "What happened next?"

"I 'elped Andie get on 'er feet. She sometimes visits still," said Achille. "But by that time Bellatrix 'ad descended into madness. She no longer wished to associate with me. Blood-traitor, she called me. Voldemort 'ad completely brainwashed 'er, made 'er do terrible things. I once sought 'er out before the first war, I reminded 'er of you. She said nothing, but walked out the door with tears in 'er eyes and told me she would kill me if I'd mention you again. Then came Azkaban. Black manor stood empty now: Andie exiled, Narcissa gone, Bellatrix gone, Cygnus dead because of a potioneering accident and Druella... suicide by poison out of loneliness."

Bitterness and guilt was obvious on Achille's voice, especially when he mentioned his sister's name. A terrible thought came over her. "Mister Rosier? I... perhaps you've heard, but Bellatrix, she... she tortured me... I..."

"I know," replied Achille sadly. "I am sorry."

"Do you think she... she realized who I was when she... when..."

"I know for a fact she did, miss Granger," said Achille.

Hermione just couldn't take it anymore. Her body started to shake and her lip started to quiver. Tears burst from her eyes as she wept. Though she had only met the man a few moments ago, she allowed him to embrace her. "There there, miss Granger. It's not your fault. It was never your fault."

"Yes it is!" Hermione sobbed. "I thought I was helping her! I thought I could change things! I thought I could make things better! But I just made everything _worse_ , didn't I? She... she's my friend and I... There has to be something I can do!"

Helpless. Hopeless. It all came crushing down upon her all at once. Time was a harsh mistress: it wasn't Dumbledore who was the reason for Bellatrix' fall. It was Hermione herself. She had given Bellatrix hope in a dark time, friendship and caring... and then when it had been ripped away, it had left Bellatrix is such a damaged state that it left her vulnerable to be exploited.

The horrible and crushing truth was that by trying to prevent Bellatrix' fate, Hermione had caused it.

"I tried to save her! Are you telling me she became the way she was because I tried so hard to _save_ her?!" she fought back more tears. "Time is immutable. I should have known… I should have realized!"

"Time, she is a cruel mistress, non? I see you 'ave come to care a great deal for my niece," said Achille, offering her a hankerchief which Hermione took with gratitude. The young witch dried her tears as the man smiled at her. "There might be a way to break the cycle… by breaking the rules."

Her produced a satchel which was filled with books. "Everything I could find on Fae Mirrors. It took me years, but this should 'elp you. I am a 'umble painter, miss Granger, not a researcher like mon père or you. But I think you can make sense of this and not 'aving to track down these books should 'elp you save some time. Because make no mistake, miss Granger, if you still want to 'elp my niece, you are definitely 'on the clock' as they say."

"How long do I have?" asked Hermione.

"March 3rd 1969. Or 1999, apparently," said Achille.

"Another combination of threes or multiples," said Hermione, rubbing her chin. "That can't be a coincidence either."

"Hm, now that you mention it," replied Achille. "Ah, but that is because you are the academic and I am not, non?"

"Thank you so much," said Hermione. "I promise you, I am committed to helping Bellatrix."

Achille nodded with a smile. "But why?" said Achille. "What do you owe the woman who tortured you?"

"Because..." Hermione started, thinking of her own nightmares and trauma. "I haven't been myself since that day at the manor. Since the war. And... if I help Bella, I feel as if I'm helping myself too. Like you said, she deserves better. And so do I. We both do."

"Ah, you see, cherie?" Achille turned to the grave. "Hermione never forgot about you. You were wrong. And she will find a way to undo this injustice. Won't she?"

Hermione nodded sternly. "I will!" she stated with conviction. "I will do _whatever_ it takes!"

Just then, Hermione felt a bit woozy. She reached out and put her hand on the headstone to keep herself from falling over. Then, she went weak in the knees and the world started spinning. The next thing she knew she was lying on a cot just inside the atelier, letting out a groan.

"Careful, miss Granger," said Rosier. "Don't be sitting up too quickly, non?"

"Hm," sighed Hermione as she raised her hand to her head. "Wh... what happened?"

"You fainted," said Achille, holding a cup of water for her to drink. "My assistant and I put you on the cot for a rest. Are you alright?"

Hermione let out a sigh. "Haven't been sleeping well. And then... all this..."

"Ah, it is a bit overwhelming, non?" said Achille. "You are welcome to stay the night, if you wish. My assistant could order dinner to be delivered."

"No... no thank you," said Hermione. "I have to get back to Hogsmeade."

"Or Bellatrix might be worried when you don't show up to chat with 'er, non?" grinned Achille.

"I was a late a few nights back," said Hermione. "Overslept due to lack of sleep. She tried to hide it, but..."

"I understand. Be well, miss Granger."

By now it was close to six and she would need to catch the train back to Glasgow. With any luck, she'd be back around 10 pm, hoping to catch a few winks on the train and have a bit of a kip at the inn after some food.

Like Rosier said, Hermione was on the clock now. And she'd have to use her time very efficiently.

Once sat in her compartment, however, with the train now speeding through the English countryside, the full weight of the implications came bearing down upon her. Thankfully, it was a private compartment so nobody could see her anguish. She couldn't keep her hands from shaking while a torrent of negative emotions flooded her every thought. In that moment, Hermione hit proverbial rock-bottom. She had never felt this anguished, this shredded or this useless in her entire life. A failure, a fraud, a fool, a fuck-up… a burden and a detriment to everyone around her.

Grey clouds and rain slashing against the pane of glass while her train passed through Bradford, the UK's most dull and dreary town in existence, didn't do much to improve her mood.

She felt like hopeless, helpless and damaged beyond repair, stuck down in a pit so deep that looking up at the light above only reminded her of the endless climb she'd have to do to get out of it.

Her hands were shaking again. Her entire body was shaking. She'd felt like this when the magic was raining down upon Hogwarts that fateful day. Only difference then was that she didn't have the time to think about it.

She didn't want to feel like this anymore. She didn't want to be like this anymore.

Hermione glanced at the railing of the baggage container. It looked sturdy and inviting. Had she been wearing a belt, it would have been perfect. Close the curtains, tie the double doors together and it might be two of three stations further before she'd be found. She'd be free.

But, of course, she wasn't wearing a belt today. Yet another fuck-up…

It wasn't the first time Hermione had thoughts like this, not by a long shot, and it likely wouldn't be the last time. She'd never shared them with anyone, not Harry, not Ron, not even Trix. Hermione wasn't quite sure what prevented her from sharing, or prevented her from going through with it. Perhaps it was the realization that it would hurt people she loved, no small amount of shame and maybe, on some level, there was some small spark of hope left in her.

' _She loved you_ '. Achille Rosier's words came back to her. ' _Bellatrix loved you_ '.

Hermione glanced at her side, to the bag of books. No. No, this was no time for selfish acts. Not at all. Hermione grit her teeth and squared her jaw, yanking the topmost book out of the bag and opened it to scan the table of contents.

' _She loved you_ '.

Hermione would save Trix. She would. There was a stark realization that she wouldn't be alone in this. She'd have Trix to rely upon. Lord knows the girl was smart, perhaps even smarter than she was on some levels. The two brightest witches of their respective ages would figure this Fae Mirror out. They _would_ cheat fate. They _would_ cheat time. All they had to do was to find a loophole in fundamental laws of physics and magic itself. And, to be honest, changing the laws of time and the universe actually felt a hell of a lot more attainable than fixing herself in that moment.

Pushing all her despair aside, she opened her notepad and started vigorously taking notes as she diligently worked her way through three books for all the hours it took for the train to reach Hogsmeade. She picked up a cheap soggy sandwich from the station vendor and headed straight into the Forbidden Forest, where she sat at the pool for hours while working in her notepad. In fact, she lost track of time and was only broken from her work-induced reverie when the area around her was illuminated blue.

Looking up, she saw Bellatrix' dark eyes looking back at her. Instantly, Hermione heart soared and her mouth involuntary curved into a smile as her darkest thoughts were banished by a radiant sun. "Hey Hermie!" Bellatrix greeted while pouring herself a cup of tea. "Oof, what a day. Lestrange has been whining again, about something more mundane this time. He thinks it's embarrassing that his future wife consistently gets much higher marks at everything than he does, so he's rather pathetically asking me to botch up a few assignments. I told him the next time he asks, he'll get a hex to the knackers instead."

' _She loved you_ '.

"Trix," Hermione said. "Wait till you hear what I found out."

' _She loved you_ '.

She would keep secrets from Trix. She wouldn't tell about meeting her uncle. She wouldn't tell her what fate had in store for her. But she would tell her everything she would need to know to crack the secret of the Fae Mirror. Together.


	16. Breaking the Window

One good thing about being effectively expelled for a month was no morning classes, meaning Hermione could sleep late for as long as she wanted. It was a surprise even to her how much she needed and enjoyed her rest. Working herself to the bone and having an irregular sleeping pattern on top of that had been taking its toll, and the past couple of days she had slept until well past noon.

So decadent.

A pattern had quickly emerged: Sleep in late, breakfast, research, optional lunch, research, dinner brought up, more research, chatting with Trix, sleep. Repeat.

McGonagall had done her a huge favour by expelling her, but probably not in the way she had intended: Hermione now had her hands free to totally devote herself to researching the Fae Mirror. And, now that she was on the clock, that was a huge boon. She only had about four months before the Fae Mirror would stop appearing and her friend would be doomed to follow the path history had laid out for her.

Sat at the pool leafing through her books, she felt the snow still bearing down upon her. Early in December as it was, this was looking to be an inordinately cold winter judging from the early snow fall. Still wearing her ushanka and thick winter coat, she had also donned fingerless wool gloves to keep her hands warm while still being able to handle her books. Despite her clothes, despite the hot cup of tea, she felt herself shivering. Apparently, the weather in 1968 still wasn't a hair better as she saw her friend in the Fae Mirror with a thick wool scarf around her neck.

"Alright," said Hermione as she found the correct page. "I've finally finished the translation. Bear with me, it's a bit rough. ' _On the eve of summer solstice, when the moon was its highest, a herbologist was searching through the woods for those plants which bloom in the moonlight. As he followed the flow of magic through the forest, picking up plants to sell at his shop, he came across a most magnificent sight. In the middle of the forest, in a clearing and nestled among the dead roots of petrified willow, lay a pool of pure magic. It bathed the clearing in an eerie blue glow. Yet, the herbologist was not afraid. He was incapable of being afraid._

_The only reason why he wasn't afraid, was because of a magnificent unicorn which had sauntered into the clearing. Perhaps this was the unicorn's favourite drinking spot. It mattered not, as the curious creature was drawn to the waters. Yet, it did not drink._

_From his perch, the herbologist could just make out the shadow of a figure in the pool looking back into the clearing. But, to his surprise, it was not a reflection of the unicorn itself. Suddenly, the majestic creature whinnied in abject terror and, for a moment, the herbologist thought that it might have spotted him. This was not the case, however, as the direction the unicorn took to flee was towards him. As the creature passed, the herbologist could see that the figure was still there._

_More curious than frightened, the man stepped towards the magic pool. To peer. He instantly was given a powerful fright, for staring back at him was a creature of nightmare. A unicorn, yes, but one with skin as black as coal, three sets of clustered eyes as blue as the moon and an expression of baleful malice._

_The herbologist, through some form of telepathy or his own intuition, received the impression that this frightful creature wished to harm him in ways man had never known or could even imagine in his darkest dreams._

_This pool. This Fae Mirror. It showed him terrors from beyond. A dark mirror of his own world. A land of endless nightmares._

_The herbologist dropped his basket and ran as fast as his legs could carry him. He ran and ran and ran, all the time swearing that the frightful creature was just behind him, nipping at his heels. He ran into his town, his home, and bolted the door behind him. He refused to leave his home for days._

_Later, his son, who was rather sceptical of this fantastical tale, want back investigate the woods his father refused to returned to and found no sign of a magic pool. Next to the man's dropped basket was a normal pool of gathered rain water, no sign that there had ever been an ounce of magic in the air._

_The herbologist never returned to the forest."_

"Hm," Bellatrix rubbed her chin. "Interesting."

"That is the first documented occurrence of a Fae Mirror and the book places the tale as being written somewhere in the 13th century. Unfortunately, it doesn't give us much new information," said Hermione, slightly frustrated at having seemingly wasted a lot of time translating this story.

"Wait... he followed the flow of magic through the forest, right?" Bellatrix bit her lip. "I wonder if he's referring to magical lay-lines. There's usually a slew of magical plants glowing along the path of a lay-line, so it would make sense of a herbologist to follow them. Hm, the path of the magical lay-lines through the Forbidden Forest is well documented and I just bet that if we find the place were all the lay-lines intersect on the map, it'll be right where we are now. I'll look into it. That might be something we could use."

That made Hermione smile briefly. "That's something at least," said Hermione. "It's just a tad disappointing that the story seemed to be more about that black unicorn than about the Fae Mirror itself."

"But, of course, there are no black unicorns," said Bellatrix. "There never have been. They're creatures of light. It's antithetical to their nature."

"There's been no recorded sightings at all? Could it have been some sort of genetic anomaly?" Hermione mused. "Something like a reverse albino. Or a panther."

"None," said Bellatrix. "A unicorn isn't a normal horse. All of them are stark white with a blonde mane as belies their light magical nature. Trust me, if there were mirrored coal-black unicorns out there which are attuned to sluts, they'd have been seen all over the place."

It was a joke, pure and simple, but Bellatrix did raise a good point. The colour was tied to their magical nature and wouldn't change unless their magical nature would be different too. While Hermione was lost in thought, Bellatrix tapped her fingers on the root she was sat on. "Hermie, I'm going to say something completely barmy. Let's assume two things: the story is correct and the herbologist actually did see a black unicorn in the Fae mirror. And secondly, black unicorns never existed, not in past, present or future."

"Those two assumptions are contradictory, Trix," Hermione replied.

"Not necessarily," said Bellatrix. "Not if we add a third assumption in the mix: Fae Mirrors aren't only a window to other times, but other places as well."

"But there isn't any evidence for…." Hermione started to say, but swiftly caught herself when something fluttered on the edge of her memory. "Hold on…"

Immediately, Hermione tossed herself onto her notes and swiftly grabbed two books which had been marked with yellow post-its. After a quick search, Hermione found the passages she was looking for. "There was another Fae Mirror sighting in the Black Woods around 1877. The huntsman who found it claimed to have seen, and I quote, ' _a wondrous land of colour and life, unlike anything I have ever witnessed during my short time exploring God's creation. Praise be to the Lord Almighty, for I have lain my eyes on the Garden of Eden'_. Religious rhetoric aside, this is a very different description from most of the other eye-witness accounts, which describes the Fae Mirror mirroring the same location in the future or past, just like ours is doing. It's not a single account either. There's an eye-witness account of a Japanese muggle salary-man who went into the suicide forest around Mount Fuji to hang himself after his wife left him in 1975, but changed his mind after seeing ' _an indescribable scene of beauty and wonder, full of colour and life_ '. I don't know if you've ever seen pictures of the Japanese suicide forest, but I wouldn't exactly describe it as a place of wonder. Most recent account is of a dragon-watcher in the forest of Romania in 1994, whom had gotten lost in said forest and spent ' _many an hour marvelling at the very fabric of nature itself_ '."

Bellatrix shifted forward. "Merlin, Hermie, where did you find all of this? And in so short a time?"

"It's just research," muttered Hermione while looking away from her friend. ' _Your uncle loved you enough to spend 30 years pulling everything he could find on Fae Mirrors in the hopes that it would help a girl he only knew the name of to change the past_.' Truth be told, Hermione felt like a bit of a fraud: Achille Rosier had done most of the leg-work while she and Bellatrix were simply connecting the dots. Granted, to gather all this information could have easily taken her years of research and, as it stood, there simply wasn't time for that.

"Could it be?" Bellatrix rubbed her chin. "Hermie, there's a lot of magical creatures out there. Some beyond fantastical…"

Hermione nodded her head, realizing what Bellatrix was trying to say. "Trix, you might have a point there. There are magical creatures with a clear evolutionary lineage. Kneazles, for example, though magical in nature, but share a common ancestor with the regular house-cat. The fact that they can interbreed only proves that point. Still, there plenty of magical creatures with no clear evolutionary lineage."

At that moment, Bellatrix seemed a bit huffy. "I'll have you know we are well aware of the existence of Darwinian evolution in the wizarding world. And I know what a kneazle is, thank you very much!"

"I didn't mean to suggest…"

"… it's fine," Bellatrix waved her hand, eager to move on. "Point being, they couldn't have sprung into being from nowhere. They must have come from somewhere! What if… they came through the Fae Mirror somehow?"

Hermione bit her lip. Though there was no direct evidence for that claim, the fact remained that forests where Fae Mirrors had been sighted were teeming with magical life, sometimes bordering on the fantastical. One such a forest would be a statistical anomaly. But all of them? No, Bellatrix might be on to something here.

"You realize this is pioneering work, right?" Hermione chuckled.

Bellatrix nodded and gave her a slight grin. "And the two brightest witches of their respective ages are doing the pioneering, across time and space."

Hermione couldn't help but smile at that. "This is going to make for one hell of a dissertation."

In the pool, Bellatrix leaned forward. "I'll do you one better… what if we go there?"

Hermione blinked. "Come again?"

"Think about it," she said, roving her wand over the pool for good measure. "I've been taking some readings and it seems like this pool is a funnel of a magical vortex. It's unmistakable. I mean, every time you apparate, you create an artificial magical vortex connecting one place to another. The very reason why people get so sick from apparating too far is because an artificial vortex doesn't want to exist and is being forced to stay open long enough for the apparition to take place. A portkey is a more stable, permanent magical vortex, but there are also a lot of naturally occurring magical vortices and if this is one side of a funnel… Or a funnel system…"

"… then there's other funnels it's connected to," Hermione finished. "And if it's stable enough to allow for travel or if it can be connected to the right funnel..."

"We could meet up!" Bellatrix yelled out, sounding positively elated. "Either in one of our time-lines or maybe even in this mysterious place that's been described by those eye-witnesses! Oh, Merlin, Hermie, what if we manage to pull this off?! What an amazing adventure it would be! For both of us!"

Hermione couldn't help but smile. Her friend was certainly enthusiastic. She hated to put a damper on it. "If we _can_ manage it. Such things are usually done by ritual, but it doesn't exist. Not yet. We'll have to invent one."

Thing about ancient rituals was that they had to have been invented at some point. Finding one was much easier than creating one, which involved endless amounts of trial and error finding the right words, the right cadence to words, the right wand movements and the right order of doing things in. And where to even start?

"Blood," Bellatrix spoke resolutely. "It'll be a blood ritual."

"Why?"

"Blood is life. Blood is power. Blood is a vessel for magic," said Bellatrix. "Why do you think pure-bloods are so eager to keep their bloodlines unpolluted? Or why blood sacrifices are a thing? Read your history of magic: early apparition experiments involved plenty of magic blood as a spell component. If we are going to make this work, it'll have to be through a blood ritual. Do you have something sharp on you? We could do a bit of a test."

"Are you sure blood of a muggle-born will suffice?" Hermione said with a sarcastic edge or her voice.

"Are you on about that again?" Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. "I apologized for that, which is something I rarely do, by the way."

"Right, sorry, sorry," Hermione said quickly and fished around in her pocket, finding a small pocketknife used for peeling the occasional apple. She unfolded it, the tip looking sharp enough to do the trick. When she looked into the pool, however, she was given a bit of a fright. Trix was holding in her hand an oddly shaped dagger which she had come to be intimately familiar with. Almost instinctively, she made a grab to her forearm, to make sure that the cursed wound hadn't reopened again.

Bellatrix, in the meantime, apparently mistook her reaction for one of admiration. "Cool dagger, isn't it?" smiled Bellatrix. "Picked it up at Borgess and Burke on my last shopping trip. It's actually cursed: if I wanted to, I could inflict a wound which would leave a really ugly scar which reopens ever so often. Sure, I mostly bought it because it looks cool, but I would really love to carve ' _I love long big cocks_ ' in the skin of Lestrange's forehead."

Hermione fought to keep her breathing regular. For a moment, she was back on the floor of Malfoy Manor, a sneering, giggling Bellatrix pressing on top of her. She felt her weight on her body, her voice in her ears, the tip of the dagger carving through her skin. Hermione forced herself to think that Trix wasn't that woman. Not yet. And if she could manage it, not ever. Trix was her friend. Her friend. Not her enemy.

"Hermie, are you alright?" Hermione heard Bellatrix say, snapping out of her haze. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"It's... it's nothing," said the young witch. "Shall we begin?"

Hermione hissed when she pressed the tip of her pocket knife into the palm of her hand. A droplet of blood started to form on the blade. On the other side of the Fae Mirror, Trix did the same with that infernal dagger of hers.

"Ready?" said Bellatrix. "On the count of three. One… two…"

On the count of three, two droplets of blood in two different time-lines fell towards the waters of the Fae mirror and hit the surface at almost the exact same time. For a moment, the waters of the Fae Mirror and the blue light turned into bright red very briefly. The Fae Mirror seemed to churn for a moment and the blue magical light seemed a little brighter than before. The two girls shared a look and gently let their hands slip into the water. This time, unlike many moons before, Hermione was almost startled to feel a gentle touch. Bellatrix' hand in the water wasn't solid enough to grasp, but solid enough to brush across her skin.

"I feel you!" Bellatrix giggled, sheer joy on her voice.

"Same," Hermione grinned. "We have a proof of concept!"

They both withdrew their hands, both apparently realizing at the same time that they had just stuck their hands in a pool of water which had a temperature near the freezing point. After both dried their hand, Hermione faced the pool once more. "So. Lay-lines, blood magic and magical vortices. That's three new avenues of research," said Hermione.

"I'll handle the lay-lines and find a map of those. Oh, I know," said Bellatrix. "Over the weekend, I'll ask Sebastian… that's our butler, by the way… to mail me two books from grand-père's library. I'll make copies and bury them in a small box underneath the third root to your left, along with a copy of the map of the lay-lines."

Hermione looked to her side and counted the roots. One, two, three… Ah, there it is. A bit of digging later and Hermione found a box containing a map and two books. Looking at the map, she could see that Bellatrix had already circled the place where they intersected: as they predicted, it was the clearing they were both sitting in. Then, Hermione picked up the first book. " _Wellspring of magic. Vortices in the wild_ ," Hermione read the title. This was hardcore theoretical stuff and a staple of advanced magical theory. She herself had attempted to breach this subject in her fourth year, but she lacked a proper theoretical basis. Many of the things described in this book were still a bit over her head… not that she would admit that to Bellatrix, of course, and in all fairness this was a separate field she had yet to fully focus on. That was until she noticed something incredible. "Wait. Thibaud Ludolf Rosier. Your grandfather wrote this book?!"

A nod and a smile from Bellatrix confirmed this. "And the notes?" Hermione asked, after discovering annotations and liner notes on almost every single page.

"Grand-père was working on a third, revised edition, but he never got to finish it before he died," said Bellatrix with some melancholy on her voice.

"There's notes in a different handwriting here," said Hermione, noticing a second set of handwriting among the notes at many places.

"Mine," smiled Bellatrix. "I was planning to finish the work on the third edition in my grand-père's name, but some experiments need to be redone and I lack the means or experience at the moment."

Her friend let out a heavy and mournful sigh. "Yet another thing I won't be able to do." Another flash of pain across her eyes: though she didn't say it out loud, it was clear to Hermione that Bellatrix felt like she was letting her grandfather down. It dawned on her just how different Trix was from the woman she would eventually become. Oh, the similarities were there: there were flares of obsession, streaks of arrogance here and there, as well as the occasional outburst of anger. But nothing that was unhealthy. Nothing that reminded her of the madness of Bellatrix Lestrange. In fact, she was rather impressed with Trix: she was clever, insightful, full of life and passion. That she not only wanted to finish her grandfather's work, but understood it so thoroughly spoke volumes.

"I think your grandfather would have been very proud of you regardless," spoke Hermione with utmost sincerity.

That seemed to be the boost which Bellatrix needed at the moment. She looked up, eyes slightly watery while curls danced over her cheeks. A slight, brief smile was a silent word of thanks. "I miss him," Bellatrix spoke softly.

"I'm sorry," replied Hermione.

"He would have liked you, you know?" she replied. "He cared less about blood and more about intelligence, skill and strength of character."

"I think I generally like your mother's side of the family better," chuckled Hermione.

"Hah!" Bellatrix laughed. "Tell me that again after you've met maman, Hermie. She can be… critical."

"Still," sighed Hermione. "To return to the subject at hand, I do know enough about vortices that if there isn't already an existing natural or artificial one on every side, we'll need a participant ritualist on all active sides of this cosmic door. Meaning, we'd need a third person to break through. Dammit!"

Bellatrix looked away for a moment, tapping her chin while in thought. "Not necessarily…" she muttered.

"Trix?"

"I've just handed in the first draft of my Arithmancy thesis the other day and I think we could put some of the theory in practise," said Bellatrix.

Ah yes, Hermione remembered. There was a copy of Trix' rather mindbogglingly esoteric thesis in her school file. She recalled it was about manipulating numbers to reshape reality.

"Alright, lay-lines are like underground rivers of magic, flowing through the entire forest. Through the Fae Mirror, we are both connected to the lay-line flow in both our times," said Bellatrix. "I would need to take some measurements and do some calculations, but I think that if we carefully place a series of lodestones right into the flow of the lay-lines on both our sides of the Fae Mirror, we could alter the flow of magic to create voidzones."

"Voidzones?" Hermione frowned. "What would be the purpose of that?"

"No, no, that could work!" grinned Bellatrix. "Voids want to be filled, right? It's a universal law. Nature abhors a vacuum. Well, magic does too. Voidzones fill and become high energy zones. Enough high energy zones in the right places at both our locations and…"

Hermione gasped. "… you want to _fool_ the magic into thinking there's the third participant on the other side of the Fae Mirror!"

"It's not purely theoretical. Grand-père has managed to create a portkey that way between two continents on his own without a second person purely by manipulating lay-lines," said Bellatrix. "Granted, this is a bit bigger than that, but with enough of a charge… I should talk to Antonin, perhaps."

Hermione almost did a double-take when she heard the name. There was only one person this Antonin could be. Antonin Dolohov, one of Bellatrix' fellow Death Eaters. Hermione supposed she shouldn't be surprised that Bellatrix would know him before the Death Eater days. Hell, she might have be the very person who recommended him to Voldemort. "Antonin?" she asked carefully.

"Hm?" Bellatrix muttered. "I'm sure I mentioned him before… I think… No? Well, he's a Ravenclaw, one year below me. Durmstrang transfer. Smart. What's important, though, is he that he's really involved with Hogwarts student radio."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I… don't quite follow."

"Oh, magical resonance as it travels through lay-lines resembles radio waves quite a lot," said Bellatrix. "For the trick we're trying to pull, we'll need to have the purest possible magical resonance and for that we'll need to find a way to 'clear' the signal, as it were. Don't worry, I'll keep the discussion purely theoretical to hide what I'm really after."

"I'll… take your word for it," Hermione took a deep breath.

Great. Hermione couldn't help but wonder if it indeed had been Bellatrix whom had introduced Dolohov to the other Death Eaters. If that was the case, it would seem that by giving Bellatrix a reason to speak to Antonin Dolohov, Hermione had potentially ruined yet _another_ person's life through her good intentions. As if she she needed more reasons to change fate.

"Hermie, take a look at the other book I sent you."

It was then that Hermione noticed the second book in the box: it was much older than the previous one, looked to be leather bound and locked with an iron clasp. After a quick spell to open the lock, she flipped the cover and read the title. ' _Blood rites and Bacchanals. Exploiting the power of thy blood_ '. After flipping through a few pages, she glanced over a few rites described and saw a few of the heinous illustrations. "Jesus, Trix, what have you just sent me?!"

"It's an ancient collection of blood rites from olden times," said Bellatrix. "Compiled in the middle ages. We've already seen that blood is the key, so if we use part of the rites described in this book as a template, it might save us some time."

More pages turned, more horror. Hermione's mouth fell open when she saw an ancient woodblock depiction of a witch holding up the severed head of a goat above a roaring fire. "Trix, these rites… They aren't just black arts… they are vantablack arts! Seriously, books like these might the reason why witch-finders were a thing!"

She saw a flash of annoyance crossing Bellatrix' features. "Magic isn't inherently good or evil, Hermie. It's how you use it and what you use it for which determines that. Dark arts can be used for good and light spells can just as easily be used for evil purposes. Besides, there's far more benign rites in the middle part of the book. Still, you probably shouldn't leave it lying around unguarded. That particular book is banned in most wizarding nations. For really stupid reasons, I might add."

Indeed, shades of the woman she could become were still there: the ruthlessness and the willingness to do whatever it takes. Trix was Slytherin through and through, seeing magic as a tool and generally not being bothered about ethics. The younger Bellatrix might not be a dark witch, but she was certainly a grey one.

They chatted a bit more about mundane things before the Fae Mirror fizzled out for the day. A tired and cold Hermione made her way back to the inn and, after warming herself by the fire somewhat, tossed the books on her desk and crawled underneath the blankets for some much needed rest. Tomorrow would be another busy day of research.

* * *

_Hermione lay on the cold floor of Malfoy Manor, tears welling from her eyes as she trembled in fear. Above her hovered Bellatrix Lestrange, her expression one of a twisted smile. The dark witch was greatly enjoying seeing her in pain, laughing mockingly at her whimpers and cries. "Please..." Hermione dared to speak, her voice hoarse and tiny from all the shouting. "I've done nothing to you..."_

_The dark witch's twisted smile transformed into an incredulous expression before it continued to morph into abject rage. "LIAR!" shrieked Bellatrix in her ear after slapping her hard in the face. "You abandoned me! You left me all alone! You are a filthy lying piece of mudblood offal! You never were anything else than offal! You'll pay, you'll pay, YOU'LL PAY! THIEF! LIAR!"_

_Pain more terrible than she had ever experienced in her short life exploded through her body as yet another Cruciatus curse burned through her nervous system. Impossibly, this one was even worse than the ones she had inflicted upon her just before. Her body trembled while spots flashed in front of her eyes... she had bit her cheek so hard she tasted blood._

" _Get used to pain, little mudblood!" Bellatrix shouted. "You'll be feeling a lot of that tonight! I'm going to drive you mad! I'll destroy that precious little mind you are so proud of! It's what you deserve!"_

" _NO! Please! I haven't..."_

" _SILENCE! CRUCIO!"_

Hermione started awake only to find herself sat upright in her bed while her body was drenched in sweat. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, now realizing where she was and that she was quite safe. As expected, she was in her room at the inn.

Hermione ran a hand through her hair and let herself fall back onto the mattress. Ever since her conversation with Achille Rosier, her nightmares had returned with a vengeance. She relived her traumatic experience at Malfoy Manor almost every night and, also since talking to Rosier, a few of the words Bellatrix had spoke to her on that fateful night stood out.

_'You abandoned me', 'You left me all alone_ '. Though these hadn't made much sense at time and Hermione hadn't exactly been in a position to give them any kind of deep thought. However, now that Achille Rosier had given her some more context the meaning behind it had gotten quite clear: Bellatrix had known whom she was, because she remembered talking to her in 1968. Bellatrix had met Hermione, before Hermione had met _her_. Obviously, Bellatrix had also been quite resentful towards the young witch despite the fact that the Fae Mirror inevitably collapsing was something that was completely out of her control.

It pained Hermione's heart, for causing her friend such heartache was not something that she had ever intended. She was still determined to change Bellatrix' fate, temporal mechanics be damned!

She turned her head to her side and saw that the sun was already up. She threw her feet over the side of the bed and into her waiting slippers while making a grab for her bathrobe. Her first stop was the door of her room, which she swiftly opened and found the agreed upon breakfast tray waiting for her just outside. She swiftly wheeled it in and enjoyed a bite of Cumberland sausage over a cup of tea when she sat down at the desk and started working. Honestly, these days she barely bothered to get dressed unless it was to run an errand or to go out at night to visit Trix.

Three weeks. Three weeks she had been living this way. Honestly, it had been an inspiring time for her, especially when there was such a clear sense of progress.

If she'd still been in school, Christmas holiday would fast be approaching. As it stood, she had her hands free for experimentation which took up the greater part of her day. Deep in December as she was, she would soon spend a week with her parents, but already had a plan in motion to maximize her time spent with her parents, while sacrificing as little research time as possible.

Both girls had already donated pints of their blood to the cause, slashing and healing the palms of their hands more times than she'd even dare to count. She was slightly worried about going anaemic, so had picked up a few bottles of iron pills at a pharmacy in Dufftown and made an effort to eat more food which was rich in iron-content.

Still, she and Trix were making a lot of progress. It was easy for Bellatrix to share her part of the research by simply burying it in a box to send it forward in time. Unfortunately, the only way for Hermione to do the same was to share it with Bellatrix by telling her over the Fae Mirror. She was forced to do so in a to the point and efficient manner.

To that end, she had decorated the walls of her room with all manner of notes, pictures, pages of books, illustrations and connecting it all with red ribbons. By now, papers covered so much of the walls almost none of the original wood could be seen. A lot of the research was rather dark in nature, which was to be expected when researching blood rites: Hermione had permanently put up a 'Do not disturb' sign on her door outside or the cleaning lady much start to think that she was some sort of cultist... or worse, clean it all up and mess up her carefully crafted setup or sort the papers out of order.

Hermione chuckled. Her room would probably look like the abode of a madwoman to any outsider.

Still, over three weeks of painstaking and intense research later, Hermione actually felt close to a breakthrough. She found she meshed well with Bellatrix: though the two had had some heated debates, Bellatrix had offered plenty of fresh and practical ideas and insights alongside Hermione's more analytical and theoretical approach. Though it sometimes meant she'd had to cut a few corners she preferred not to cut, she couldn't argue with the clear results.

Right now... or right now in 1968? However that worked... Bellatrix had finally cracked one of the problem plaguing them: for a three-way connection through a magical vortex, a person would be needed at the end of every connection point to perform the blood rite. And, of course, there were only two of them.

Apparently with some help from the younger Antonin Dolohov, Bellatrix had calculated the best spots to place the lodestones to alter the flow of magic to suit their needs. However, when Hermione went to place the lodestones in her time-line, some things didn't end up. Hermione was surprised to learn that Bellatrix actually made a few mistakes in her Arithmancy calculations... which Trix had been quite embarrassed about. Correction had been made.

While Bellatrix had been working the lay-lines, Hermione was mostly focused on creating a blood ritual from scratch by using bits and pieces of existing rituals as a baseline, using her earlier experiments as a guide for adjustment. She felt she was so close to the solution now, she could almost taste it. Tonight. Tonight might be when their hard work paid off.

Hermione had to admit that she was getting more and more excited. Not only for helping her friend by preventing her dark path, though that was obviously part of it, but also the fact that the two of them were doing some pioneering work here which had never been done before. She was making sure that every step here was carefully documented.

If this worked, she and Trix could actually meet. Talk face to face. Touch.

Perhaps that was the most exciting thing of all.

* * *

Bellatrix had been so engrossed in her work that she never heard Andromeda enter her dorm until her sister was literally looking over her shoulder. As soon as she did, Bellatrix slammed the notebook shut and twisted around. After panic faded, she forced herself to act calmly and grinned at her sisters.

"What's up?" she asked, her own tone of voice betraying her. Looking at the time, her sister likely came to fetch her for dinner. But the look of concern on Andie's face told another story.

"Bella..." asked Andie. "What are you doing?"

"Oh," Bellatrix shrugged. "Just a project I'm working on for Slughorn. I..."

"Bullshit!" Andie interrupted, with a tone of intensity which startled Bellatrix: her sister was always soft-spoken and gentle... sometimes cold, yes, as a Slytherin could be, but never _this_ intense. Her sister took a step forward. "Do you think I'm stupid, Bella? Do you?!"

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes and stepped forward as well, looking her little sister in the eye. There was no way she'd allow herself to be intimidated by Andie of all people. Being just as much a Black as she was, however, she did not back down nor even flinched.

"I don't think you're stupid, Andie."

"Good!" shouted Andie. "Because I know a blood rite when I see one! What are you up to, Bella? Is it for that Voldemort person?! Are you trying to impress him?!"

Bellatrix froze. "What?! No!"

"Then why is Lestrange boasting that you'll be going with him to another rally, hm?!" Andie crossed her arms. "I thought we promised each other we wouldn't return. We've just convinced Cissy to stay away and now you're running right back to him?! What kind of example does that set for her?"

Bellatrix sighed. Of course, the both of them were worried about Cissy and what she was doing might be giving off the wrong impression. She and looked around the room. Finding no prying eyes, she put her hands on her sisters' shoulders and smiled briefly. "I'm only going because Dumbledore asked me to."

"Wha... The Head Master?"

"Yes!" Bellatrix chuckled. "I'm not in the least bit convinced by that idiot clown calling himself 'Dark Lord'. What kind of moron do you take me for? No, Dumbledore asked me to look around a little, see what I can see and then report back to him."

"Bella, these are dangerous people!" Andie spoke, eyes brimming with concern.

"But if we catch them doing something illegal, if Rodolphus is involved and implicated, Dumbledore can bring in the aurors and then I won't have to marry him!" Bellatrix smiled. "Don't you see, Andie? This is my chance. If I find something juicy and damning, I won't have to marry him!"

Andie visibly paled. "Oh, Merlin, Bella! Don't you realize that Dumbledore is telling you exactly what you want to hear? Father will just find someone else for you to marry!"

"No doubt," said Bellatrix. "But that won't be Lestrange. And by now I'm old and strong enough to actually be a part of the conversation. Besides..." She glanced at the notebook for a moment. "Perhaps there's another way out of it."

"Still doesn't explain why you're researching blood rites," Andie narrowed her eyes. "Does this has something to do with the girl you've mentioned? It has, hasn't it?"

Bellatrix said nothing, but her silence told the whole story even if she hadn't wanted it to.

"What is she involving you in? Blood rites..."

"... are dangerous. Are dark arts. Corrupt the soul, defile the innocent, fire and brimstone coming down from the skies, rivers and seas boiling, forty years of darkness, earthquakes and volcanoes, the dead rising from their graves, human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together, _mass hysteria_!" Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "I've heard it all before. And as a Black, you of all people should know better than to buy into the ignorant mewings of Ministry fops."

Andie rolled her eyes. "There's a reason blood magic is strictly regulated, Bella. You could go to Azkaban."

"If practitioners of blood magic were all arrested, about 75 percent of the wizarding population would be in Azkaban, Andie!"

"That's besides the point!" Andie sighed. "You're toying with your life. Is... is that girl making you do this? Because if she is..."

"Andie..." Bellatrix glowered, raising her chin and daring her sister to continue this line of questioning.

"She _is_ making you do this, isn't she?" Andromeda pursed her lips. "It's this Hermione who put you up to this!"

"ENOUGH!" Bellatrix shrieked in Andie's face. "I WILL DO WHAT I DAMN WELL PLEASE, ANDIE! HERMIONE AND I ARE GOING TO PERFORM AN EXTRAORDINARY FEAT WHICH HAS NEVER BEEN DONE BEFORE, EVER! GO BACK TO TURNING RODENTS INTO WOOD GOBLETS FOR TRANSFIGURATIONS CLASS AND LEAVE GREATNESS TO THOSE WHO ARE WORTHY OF IT! STAY THE TINY MOUSE YOU ARE, ANDIE! AND BE GLAD I WILL ALLOW YOU TO STAND IN MY SHADOW!"

Bellatrix's chest heaved while Andie stared her down, eye watery and hands trembling. Instantly, Bellatrix's expression softened. "Andie... I... I didn't mean..."

"FINE!" Andromeda shouted back as she turned to rush to the door. "DO YOUR BLOOD RITES! AND BE DAMNED! SEE IF I CARE!"

"Andie..."

The door slammed shut with a resounding bang, leaving Bellatrix to stand in the room feeling her heart constrict with remorse.

"Fuck," she muttered, and made a mention note to make it up to her later. For now, she had work to do. As much as her heart constricted with regret at her outburst, she would have to learn the words to the ritual by heart, as well as the wand movements and even the cadence of her voice. Everything had to be perfectly executed and she could allow no distractions.

If they succeeded tonight then she would see Hermione. In the flesh. The very idea sent a tingling sensation down the length of her spine.


	17. The Window Broken

Hermione shivered and pulled her coat a little tighter. Tonight was a particularly cold night, well below freezing. She was already setting up at the pool while waiting for Bellatrix to arrive. The dagger, the fond and, of course, the script for the ritual. Still, it was rather curious that Bellatrix wasn't there yet: usually she was there waiting as soon as the pool activated.

Hermione had to admit she was nervous. The both of them had put in so much work the past couple of weeks and, honestly, it was starting to hurt Hermione to see Bellatrix so actively and enthusiastically driven to crack the secret of the Fae Mirror, all the while oblivious to the fate hanging over her head. There had been times that Hermione simply wanted to scream and reveal everything, but knew that doing so would change nothing until all the rules set could be broken. But no, the Fae Mirror was still the key to everything and figuring out how to actually change fate would be step 2.

They were only up against the tides of Cause and Effect and the general laws of the universe' progression of time. Both Insignificant things, really… Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes.

Still no Trix. Hermione took a moment to reflect on how they got to this point.

After expanding their proof of concept with some solid experimentation, Hermione had managed to MacGyver together a completely new blood ritual from about twenty existing ones. Cadence and wording was important, but even more important were intentions and desires behind the words. That was why their first real attempt at breaching the Fae Mirror had failed: the words of their first attempt were discordant with the intentions. Granted, Hermione had always been more of a theoretical writer than a creative one… which is where Trix came in handy. Together they managed to streamline it and Hermione was grateful for it. She was feeling a bit out of her depth, even though Bellatrix told her that she had done great work already and that every writer worth their salt improved on first versions of a work with a second, third or even fourth pass.

Their second attempt at a breach failed because Bellatrix had underestimated just how much magic the Fae Mirror would demand. Though redirecting the flow of magic through the lay-lines worked perfectly, the reserves just weren't enough to simulate a third person. A frustrated Bellatrix went back to the drawing board, talked with Antonin Dolohov on her side more and tried to figure out ways to make the magical flow purer and more plentiful, but simply couldn't figure out where she had gone wrong. She delved into deep theoretical material to a point where the talk about 'void zones', 'flow currents', 'activity spikes' and 'Zero-point magicals' was starting to make Hermione's head spin. Until Hermione asked to see the notes of her calculations and while Arithmancy was one of Hermione's favourite subjects, it quickly became clear to her that Bellatrix had a grasp on the magical nature of reality far beyond her own. That is, until Hermione noticed that Bellatrix had made an error in her primary calculations which were a supposition for all her future calculations, undoubtedly because of her enthusiasm, Bellatrix had placed a dot at the wrong decimal and had missed this completely as she kept working. This incorrect value had worked its way through the entire work and Bellatrix never found it because she was consistently looking for fault in the wrong place.

When Hermione had told her, Bellatrix had turned bright red and avoided looking her in the eye for the rest of their conversation. It showed a side of Bellatrix Hermione had rarely seen: gone was the confidence, the arrogance, the self-assurance. Bellatrix was demure, timid, apologetic and embarrassed, constantly cursing herself and apologizing to Hermione for wasting so much of their time.

It was really rather cute. Until Hermione realized that Bellatrix' confidence had been completely shattered and was as much in need of a pep-talk as she had been when she had botched up the first version of the ritual. Of course, it was right back to work soon enough.

Today would be the third attempt. If the law of threes held up, tonight might be the night. What wonders would they see? Would it even work? Would they finally be able to see each other face to face? She could only hope.

Still no Trix. She wasn't usually this late. Hermione wondered what could be keeping her.

Her answer came when a panting Bellatrix came running into the clearing and collapsed next to the log. "Sorry, sorry," Bellatrix caught in between laboured breaths. "I just wanted to do a last check-up on one of the lodestones. I wasn't sure I had buried it with the positive end pointing in the right direction. But it was. I'm completely convinced it will work now."

"No worries," said Hermione. "Take a moment to catch your breath. We still have plenty of time. And we need to rehearse the words and the cadence anyway."

"Good," smiled Bellatrix, her eyes drifting away slightly. She seemed distracted. Hermione couldn't help but pick up on that immediately. It was the way her eyes darted around, unfocused. There was obviously something on her mind. Their ritual would require utmost concentration and focus if it was to work. But, more importantly, if there was something on Bellatrix' mind, something must be worrying her.

"Trix?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

By now there was an understanding between the two of them. Trust. They felt they could share their thoughts and woes. Even so, Bellatrix rather hesitantly shook her head. "It's just..." she sighed. "I had a fight with Andie earlier this evening and... I said some things to her I shouldn't have. Things I regret saying."

Hermione could tell that it was really bothering Trix. "I'm sorry," said Hermione. "What was it about?"

"She caught me studying our rite," replied Bellatrix with pursed lips. "Gave me a lecture about the dark nature of blood magic."

"Well..." replied Hermione, biting her lip. "She's not wrong..."

"Not you too!" Bellatrix snorted. "I'll... I'll make it up to her later. I'll buy her some of those bonbons she likes. Take her out to Hogsmeade. I promise I won't let it distract me."

"Good," said Hermione. "I never had any siblings, but I understand well enough that you need to take good care of them."

Bellatrix chuckled. "Spoken like an only child! Honestly, siblings can be a piece of piss at the best of times, but… Look, let's just begin, alright?" she asked. Hermione agreed. Together they rehearsed the rhymes and the wand movements for about half an hour until they both felt they had gotten it just right. "Remember," said Hermione. "Where I say past, you must say 'future'. I noticed that bit threw you off a bit earlier."

"I'll keep that in mind, " said Bellatrix. "About the words. Who is which?"

A fair question. "I don't think it's either of us," said Hermione.

"Or it could be both of us," Bellatrix suggested.

"We're both sacred and damned?" Hermione asked.

"Think about it. Neither of us is in the best state at the moment," said Bellatrix. "I got a loveless marriage hanging over my head and you're recovering from a war. But we are both still alive regardless and we both still hope."

Hermione was actually pleased to hear that. "Ready?" she asked, apprehension creeping into her voice as she was both excited and frightened for what they were about to do.

"Ready!" Bellatrix confirmed with grim determination.

The ritual started with acute timing. Both girls took their daggers and slid it across the palm of their hands. By now, they had done it so often that they had gotten used to the pain. Putting the dagger aside, they held their hands above the pool and let droplets of blood fall into the magical waters, the colour changing from blue into deep red. While holding their wands in the other and making the required wand movements, the two girls chanted in unison.

" _Blood of the present_

_Blood of the past_

_Blood of the sacred_

_Blood of the damned_

_Blood of the lover_

_Blood of the loved_

_Blood of the false_

_Blood of the true_

_Blood of the wicked_

_Blood of the wise_

_We give of ourselves_

_We give of our lives_

_Grant us a glimpse,_

_Carry us off to paradise."_

When the chant was done, silence overcame the clearing. This was utter silence, as if all sounds from the forest and the denizens of the night were being blocked out. For a moment, Hermione was unsure if it had actually worked, but was confronted with the fact that it had soon enough.

Blood rites drained life, magic and essence and earlier attempts had certainly done so. There'd been times where she'd been so drained that she had slept half the day away. Of course, all these things replenished with time and rest so there were no worries there. But this attempt? This attempt drained a _lot_. A lot to a point that Hermione fell to her knees and fought to keep herself awake. A glance down the pool showed that Bellatrix was in a similar state. Okay, that certainly meant that on their next try, they'd both have to be very well rested.

Then. It happened.

A blinding flash of red light overcame Hermione, to a point where she could see no more. She felt no ground underneath her feet as her body was suddenly thrust forward. For a moment, Hermione felt like her body was being shoved through a narrow tube and her tissues being stretched beyond what should be their limits. Whatever had happened, though, it did not last long enough for her to actually feel any sort of pain until she she was rather roughly expunged from whatever magical process she had started and deposited on the ground.

The warm ground.

Even with her eyes closed, she could feel the light of the sun on her skin. Something had happened. She had been transported... somewhere else.

When she opened her eyes, she was blinded by daylight. She scrambled to her feet, used her hand to protect her eyes and, when they adjusted to the sudden influx of light, Hermione gasped at what she saw. She was standing at the edge of a large landmass, stretching as far as the eye could see. Above her was a bright blue sky, but she could see no sun or clouds. Large floating rocks, landmasses in themselves, floated freely in the air far above and around them. Hermione counted five... no seven... more…

She took note of her immediate surroundings. Hermione had been deposited on a rocky plateau overlooking what seemed to be a tranquil savanna with a large forest in the distance. She gasped when she realized she was standing uncomfortably close to the literal edge of the world, with a sharp drop-off into an endless bright void stretching to infinity in every direction. Apparently this landmass was another one of those floating rocks. She quickly backed away a little.

What also struck her were the colours. Vibrant green, powerful red, bright brown... in fact, every colour had an unnatural shade of bright vibrancy to it, as if this strange world was a Pixar film come to life. Hermione turned around and saw near her a rift through which she could still see the Forbidden Forest. Next to the rift lay her wand as well as her thermos flask of tea and all her books and notes. It seemed all her supplies had been brought along for the ride as well well.

"Oh wow," she whispered. "We actually did it..."

"Hermie!" sounded from the other side of the plateau. Hermione gasped, realizing that Trix was here. Thankfully, Bellatrix had been deposited quite near her. "Over here!"

Hermione froze when she saw Trix waving at her. She had never seen her friend by daylight: Trix was paler than she had expected, her curly hair dancing around her as her face was adorned with a happy and genuine smile. The girl rushed forward until she stood a few meters away from each other.

Trix was a few inches shorter than her, looking at her with heavy-lidded eyes. Her landing had not been a great one as there was a bloodied scratch on her chin. But that nothing a little healing potion couldn't help with: they'd still have to heal their hands too, after all.

"We did it," Bellatrix laughed. "We really did it!"

Without a further word, the two girls rushed to each other. They had been friends for months and this was the first time they met face to face. It was Trix who made the first move and took her in a firm embrace, one Hermione quickly returned. Clutching onto each other, Trix giggled in elation.

Hermione closed her eyes and simply enjoyed the sensation. "You're so beautiful," Hermione found herself whispering before she even realized what exactly she had just said.

A few moments later, both young witches were sat on a fallen log overlooking the magical and alien landscape below, taking in the majestic sight in silence. A flying creature passed by in the distance, which looked to be a cross between a pterodactyl and a dragonfly, as impossible as that sounded. But for all the unique splendour of this magical realm, Hermione found herself almost unable to tear her eyes off Bellatrix.

Bellatrix, for her part, was beyond excited, eyes roving across the valley. "Hermie," Bellatrix chuckled. "We're actually the first witches to ever set foot in this place. Do you realize that we get to name the things we see and discover?"

Bellatrix rose to her feet. "I name this plateau 'Black's Landing'! For a Black quite literally landed here. On her chin."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't it be named 'Black's Faceplant', then?"

Her friend sat back down, but not before giving her somewhat of a glare. "Shut up!" she muttered, yet the twinkle in her eye was undeniable.

"There were times when I wondered if you were actually real," said Hermione. "There were times I thought you were a figment."

Bellatrix seemed contemplative for a moment. "Same," she replied. "I never realized how much I needed companionship until I met you. Tell you what, though..."

"Hm?"

"I'm glad you're real," smiled Bellatrix.

"Absolutely," Hermione replied. Above them, the sky was as bright as ever. Try as she might, she could not spot a single cloud. No sun. No cloud. Were there even weather patterns in this realm? Was there even a day-night cycle? So many questions.

"Oh, damn!" Bellatrix cursed and picked up a notebook. "We should be documenting all of this! This is all new discovery! We should take detailed notes of what we see and what we encounter."

"Well," said Hermione. "We did document the ritual and our journey to it. That's a good start."

"It's what Eleanore Snowbell would do," said Bellatrix as she started to scribble in the notebook. "Right, Black's Landing is here and... oh, bother, how do we know which direction is North? Fiddlesticks, I'll figure that out later. Oh, wait!"

From her perch, Hermione could see that Bellatrix was drawing a crude map. However, she was more interested in what Bellatrix had just said. "You know Eleanore Snowbell?" Hermione asked.

"Of course!" smiled Bellatrix, looking up from her notebook. As she talked, she fished one of the left-over lodestones from her bag and made it magically float in the air with a quick wordless spell. "I wanted to be just like her when I was just a little witchling. Going out to explore the world and getting in all matter of adventures, like the time she got herself embroiled in the yeti civil war when searching through the ruins of Shambhala in Tibet. Or documenting the runic tablets of the draugr at Greenland and being beset upon by the drowned dead."

That made Hermione chuckle: though she had read Snowbell's work a few times, she felt that the woman was exaggerating some of the more outlandish parts of her travels for the sake of exciting her readers, but Snowbell was undeniably a great explorer. By now, the floating lodestone had settled and pointed north. Curious, apparently there was a magnetic north in this Realm for the lodestone to work.

"What?" Bellatrix raised an eyebrow at Hermione's chuckle.

"Oh, nothing," Hermione replied. "I just love that you love Eleanore Snowbell."

"And why wouldn't I?!" Bellatrix raved. "She's everything a witch should be! Brave. Smart. Strong willed. Magically gifted. Adventurous!"

"In that case," said Hermione. "You'll be pleased to know that she's still active in 1998. Snowbell is trying to get an expedition to find old Hyperborea off the ground, but she's having some trouble finding financing. With the war just being over, expeditions to far lands aren't exactly considered a high priority right now."

"What a shame," pouted Bellatrix. "Adventure and exploration are important, especially after dark times. Still, I hope she gets the expedition going. She'd be what? 110 years old in 1998?"

"107," Hermione replied. "Not that you'd be able to tell. She looks and acts like a witch in her fifties."

Bellatrix shook her head. "I hope I'll be as sprite and active when I'm that age. Hermie? We need to explore this place. Set up an expedition of our own! Look at the world that's out there and imagine that we're going to be the first to see it! Adventure and glory is here, Hermione! And all we have to do is to reach out and grab it!"

Hermione had to admit that did sound alluring and more than a little exciting. Still, she had to remember she had an ulterior motive she was keeping from Bellatrix: she had to be saved from her future fate. Still, it seemed that these two things now coincided. They had already achieved the impossible: two witches 30 years apart in time were now in the same location... wherever or whatever it was. Was this what Achille Rosier had meant by 'breaking the cycle'? Did he know of this place or was he merely guessing himself?

"I agree, but we need to make preparations for that and we need to know more about how this world interacts with ours," said Hermione. "For example, it'll be 4:00 AM in about five minutes and I don't think we want to be trapped here. Not without supplies."

Bellatrix bit her lip. "You're right, of course," she said. "Eleanore Snowbell said it herself: _'An expedition that is poorly prepared is an expedition doomed to failure_ '. Wise words."

Hermione stood up and squeezed her friend's shoulder. "Trust me, I want to explore this world as much as you do."

"I want to do this right," Bellatrix smirked. "I want to explore this realm and discover its secrets... with you."

The way Bellatrix had spoken those words gave Hermione a tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach. Slowly, Bellatrix dared to reach over with her hand to slowly grasp Hermione's. Fingers intertwined and soft skin slid over soft skin. Hermione felt her heart jump, especially when Bellatrix gave her that deep and alluring look. Hermione almost went weak in the knees when Bellatrix slowly squeezed her hand.

* * *

If she was being brutally honest with herself, Andromeda had often wondered if she had ever actually been Slytherin material. Oh, she valued cunning and ambition well enough, but doubted she had what it took to actually do some of the things which needed to be done to be a true Slytherin at heart. For one, she always had her big sister who looked out for her. In the past, Bellatrix had made it known far and wide in Slytherin that anyone who would swindle, harm or negatively impact her in any way, would have to deal with _her_ as well. And since Bellatrix was feared and respected throughout Slytherin House as well as the entire school, that claim held a lot of weight.

Thing is, Bella's respect had been earned through prowess, talent and the occasional act of violence. Andromeda herself was seemingly only respected because of who her big sister was. In that regard, perhaps Bella had been right: she _had_ been standing in her big sister's shadow.

But right now, Andromeda was planning to return the favour. Though she might be a lesser witch than Bellatrix, Andromeda was far from stupid and realized quite well what Bellatrix's patterns were. Wearing an invisibility cloak borrowed from a friend in Ravenclaw, Andromeda was following Bellatrix after she had entered the Forbidden Forest.

Sometimes a little sister had to look out of her big sister. In fact, she already had: Andie had noticed Bellatrix talking to Antonin Dolohov from Ravenclaw a lot as of late so Andromeda did some sleuthing of her own. Dolohov was no Slytherin and thus surprisingly trusting and talkative when approached with the right questions. Apparently he and Bellatrix had been talking a lot about radio waves, magical signals and cadence, apparently to support some project Bellatrix was working on for Theory of Magic. Now Andromeda knew Bellatrix well enough to know that she didn't give a flying fuck about radio, so this must have had something to do with the blood ritual. Dolohov didn't seem to know any further details, so Andie surmised that he wasn't a participant.

That left only 'Hermione'.

Andromeda would discover who this 'Hermione' really was, where she lived and then would have some serious words with her: honestly, she knew blood rites were often still practised by pure-blood families, including her own, but that didn't make them any less dangerous. Many a cocky young wizard or witch still died of taking a blood ritual too far and draining themselves completely and she was damned before she'd let that happen to Bellatrix.

Andromeda kept a respectful distance: though she was wearing an invisibility cloak, she knew that Bellatrix was far from stupid and would likely notice she was being followed if she got too close. Cloaks only hid her from sight, after all, but it would not hide the cracking of fresh snow underneath her boots or the tracks she left.

She followed Bellatrix through the forest and watched as Bellatrix started to dig near the roots of a large oak. Whatever she found there, Bellatrix seemed pleased and reburied the object without taking it.

Curious.

After this, Bellatrix took a sprint which momentarily startled Andromeda. Had she been discovered? It didn't seem so as Bellatrix didn't run towards her or headed back to the school, but rather headed deeper into the forest.

She followed suit, sprinting herself until she saw her sister coming to a stop in the distance. Andromeda swiftly found a good perch behind a fallen tree to watch her from a distance and came across a most curious sight: her sister was sat on the root of a dead tree in the middle of a clearing, peering down into a pool of water which bathed the clearing in a bluish glow. Powerful magic was at play her, as she felt the power radiating through the air.

"Sorry, sorry," Bellatrix spoke to the pool in between laboured breaths. "I just wanted to do a last check-up on one of the lodestones. I wasn't sure I had buried it with the positive end pointing in the right direction. But it was. I'm completely convinced it will work now."

What the... who was Bellatrix talking too? Was there someone else here?

"No worries," sounded the voice of a young woman. "Take a moment to catch your breath. We still have plenty of time. And we need to rehearse the words and the cadence anyway."

How odd. The voice unmistakably came from the pool. Though she would like to, Andromeda wouldn't dare to get closer for fear of being discovered. If she would, not only would Bella give her one hell of a bollocking, but there was no doubt in her mind that she would lose any hope to actually help her sister.

"Good," replied Bellatrix and even from her, Andromeda could hear in her voice that she was feeling a little bit down.

"Trix?" asked the young woman. "What's wrong?"

Bella shook her head. "It's just..." she sighed. "I had a fight with Andie earlier this evening and... I said some things to her I shouldn't have. Things I regret saying."

"I'm sorry," replied the young woman. "What was it about?"

"She caught me studying our rite," replied Bellatrix with pursed lips. "Gave me a lecture about the dark nature of blood magic."

"Well..." said the young woman from the pool. "She's not wrong..."

"Not you too!" Bellatrix snorted. "I'll... I'll make it up to her later. I'll buy her some of those bonbons she likes. Take her out to Hogsmeade. I promise I won't let it distract me."

That made Andromeda smile. Oh, Bella might act tough and aloof at times, making it seem as if nothing in the world could bother her, but Andromeda knew better. She was the one who had stroked Bella's curly hair when she had her head in her lap while bawling her eyes out after her engagement to Rodolphus Lestrange had just been announced. Poor Bella had been inconsolable. Though she hid it well, Andromeda knew she could be just as fragile as anyone else, if not moreso.

But through it all, Andromeda knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Bella loved her. And Cissy too. The three of them had an unbreakable bond.

"Good," said the young woman. "I never had any siblings, but I understand well enough that you need to take good care of them."

This young woman in the pool _had_ to be Hermione. For someone to put a smile like that on Bella's face... she hadn't seen that smile since, well, Bella had been involved with Evelyn. Though Bellatrix had put a brave face on at the time, telling everyone that she had always known their relationship would come to an end, Andromeda knew better. After Evelyn married her now-husband... as a proper pure-blood witch was wont to do... Bellatrix had been devastated and had refused to eat for two weeks.

No. That smile she had on her face right now told Andromeda enough. Bella was in love. Shit, that would make this so much harder.

When they performed their ritual, Andromeda was glad she had decided to follow Bellatrix today: the rite looked to be a complicated one and most deaths occurred when a complicated blood rite drained more life from a witch than she was prepared for. Being alone in those cases, could be a death sentence. So if something went wrong, Andromeda could step in and help catch some of the drain herself to keep Bella alive if need be.

Bella only. Family first. Family only. 'Hermione' would be on her own.

Suddenly, a flash of light blinded her, causing her to grimace slightly through the sheer intensity of it all. When she looked back at the pool, Bella... Bella was gone!

Andromeda blinked and frantically looked around the clearing only to see no sign of Bella. Panic gripped her by the throat: had Bella just blinked herself right out of existence?!

"Bella?" Andromeda called out. To hell with stealth right now. "BELLA?!"

She was about to rush into the clearing when another flash blinded her. And, right as if she had never left, Bella was sitting on the log again, a massive smile plastered on her face. "Hermie!" her sister exclaimed while Andromeda dove back behind the fallen log. "That was amazing! I'm so glad to have shared that with you."

"Right on time too," sounded Hermione from the pool. Andromeda didn't dare to take a closer look, though she would very much like to see this Hermione's face. She kept herself hidden while Hermione continued on. "We made it back at almost exactly 4:00 AM."

"Huh," Bellatrix bit her lip. "And yet the pool is still here."

"Right," replied Hermione. "Could we have altered the pool's magic?"

"No," said Bellatrix as she looked to the sky. "The moon's still in the same place. What about on your end?"

"Uhm..." sounded Hermione. "I'm sorry, but I didn't pay attention to it."

"I just bet..." said Bellatrix with a grin. "It will close in half an hour. The time we were in the Realm doesn't appear to have passed at all in our world. I think time works differently there. Let's measure it and make sure."

"Interesting," replied Hermione from the pool.

And so they did. Bellatrix and Hermione chatted together for about half an hour while Andromeda watched. They chatted like old friends would: about family, about hopes and dreams, about school... but mostly they talked about some strange place they had apparently just been to and how they were going to explore it.

Curious.

One thing which did stand out to Andromeda was that Hermione certainly didn't seem unkind. Of course, that didn't mean anything in itself. A popular saying in Slytherin was 'the bigger the smile, the sharper the knife', after all. Kindness could be a manipulative means to an end. Of course, Bellatrix would know this. And for someone from outside the family to earn Bella's trust in the way that she had... was not only extraordinary but also very telling.

Then again, they were performing blood rites.

Ah, she just didn't know what to think right now.

Finally, the two girls said their goodbyes and Andromeda could hear the sense of disappointment and longing in both their voices. Typical, really: both obviously in love with each other and both either to stubborn or to ignorant to admit it to the other.

Once Bellatrix had left the clearing and was once again on her way to Hogwarts to spend the rest of the night in bed, Andromeda shivered as she found out just how well and truly cold it was tonight. After rubbing herself a bit for warmth, she slowly crept towards the pool and found it to be... a completely mundane and utterly normal pool of water nestled amid the roots of a dead tree. After roving her wand over it, she found absolutely no sign of magic. Curious. Considering the magic she had felt, that should have left at least a bit of residue.

But now? Nothing.

This absolutely warranted further investigation. For now, she would not confront Bella. Not just yet. But she vowed to keep her big sister safe, even from herself.


	18. Safari

It was the last Friday before Christmas break, and the last school day of the year. Both in 1998 and 1968, the students of Hogwarts were excited for having some time for themselves or simply spending it with their families over the holidays. But in both time-lines, two girls were very much excited for a very different reason.

Today, right before both girls would leave before their perspective family homes the next morning, would be the start of a very special adventure. Preparing for it had taken a few more days than, Bellatrix at least, would have liked. Aside from the need of gathering the supplies required for a prolonged stay in what had been dubbed the Fae Realm, Hermione insisted... much to Bellatrix's chargin... that they needed to do more tests to confirm their initial findings. The blood rite had a repeatable result, which was gratifying, but of more concern was that the flow of time in the Fae Realm appeared to be different than in their own world. Passage of time in the Fae Realm was barely noticeable when compared with their own world, if at all. For every hour spent in the Fae Realm, the time passed in their own world was negligible. If Hermione's calculations were correct... and they always were... they could stay in the Fae Realm for weeks on end and emerge maybe a few minutes after they left in the real world.

Satisfied, their expedition could begin and Bellatrix and Hermione divided their duties to gather supplies. While Bellatrix would handle logistical and scientific equipment, Hermione was in charge of the other supplies. Here is where Hermione had to admit that she didn't have all that much money to spend: most of her small stipend went towards renting the room, after all.

So Bellatrix buried a literal treasure chest for her: a wooden box the size of shoe-box filled to the brim with galleons which was more than enough for what Hermione had in mind. The ease with which Bellatrix had given her the equivalent of a credit card with no limit along had startled her a bit: she had plenty left after buying all the supplies and even felt a bit guilty about investing some of the excess money into a new pair of walking boots. It was easy to forget just how obscenely rich Bellatrix' family was: for her friend this was nothing but pocket change and she didn't even to want any of it back.

"I'm excited!" said Bellatrix on the other side of the pool. Hermione couldn't really make it out, but noticed her friend was dressed differently and was wearing some sort of hat. Hermione put the dagger down and prepared the now painstakingly memorized ritual chant in her head. Next to her were all the boxes of supplies set next to the pool, ready for transport. "Aren't you?!"

"Heh, I am," chuckled Hermione. And that much was true. There was something special and magical about setting foot in a strange new land. Suddenly, Bellatrix' head snapped to one side.

"Something wrong?" asked Hermione.

"Nah," said Bellatrix after scanning the woods for a moment. "Thought I heard something. Let's just get too it."

As the previous days, the girls met up at the pool and performed their ritual. Blood was shed, chants were done and, like before, they ended up on the brightly lit Black plateau.

After applying some healing unguent to her palm, the first thing Hermione spotted was that Trix had donned a very different attire. Though she had an inkling when looking into the pool earlier, she couldn't quite make it out in the dark until she stepped into the daylight of this Fae Realm. Bellatrix looked as if she had stepped off the set of a 1920's silent safari film: a brown jodhpurs, snug around the calf and flared at the hip, above high dark leather boots. A cotton blouse with a lighter shade of grayish-brown was closed up with oversized buttons while a curly mane of black hair cascaded over her shoulders from underneath a white pith helmet. Hermione had never seen Bellatrix outside of a dress and soon realized that her friend had caught her staring. Trix, for her part, didn't seem to mind.

"Like what you see?" Bellatrix chuckled, giving her a bit of a wink while putting her hands on her hips.

"Uhm," Hermione looked away. "Sorry, Trix. I... I was just surprised to see you wear anything else than black," she muttered, hoping her excuse would work.

"Hah," replied Bellatrix. "I followed the example of Eleanore Snowbell. This is the kind of attire she would wear on an expedition with this kind of climate."

Of course, Hermione was dressed for the occasion as well. Her new walking boots were only an accessory to a more modern exploration attire: a blue cotton shirt and brown trousers. Rather than a pith helmet, Hermione had opted for a far simpler white beanie with a visor knitted on to keep the sun out of her eyes.

"You look great, Hermie," replied Trix, a compliment which set Hermione's heart aflutter. "Come, let's go set up base camp."

In the muggle world, an expedition of this kind could never be completed by two people alone, but magic was a great help. An entire campsite with months worth of supplies could simply be carried in two enchanted backpacks to offset the bulk and weight. Hermione was first to show her bounty: with one yank on the strings of her backpack, she produced an entire pallet of food and water. A collection of square five litre bottles stacked up, enough to last them for two months if need me.

"Whoa," Bellatrix blinked and approached the pallet, placing her hand on the clear bottles. "Wait, this isn't glass?"

"It's plastic," said Hermione. "Clear, thin plastic. Easier to carry, less likely to break and see that little faucet over there at the bottom? You don't even need to pour it. Just fill a cup and drink."

"This is... strange."

"What were you expecting?" Hermione asked.

"Barrels," replied Bellatrix. "Wooden barrels. But I have to admit these seem a mite handier."

"Well," Hermione joked. "If you can stand to be around muggle-bottled water..."

"Muggles created these?!" Bellatrix turned to her. For a moment, she thought Bellatrix was angry at the thought of having to deal with something made by muggles, but she seemed more intrigued than anything. "Well, at least that's the water taken care of. So what about the food?"

Hermione pointed to a gathering of tins. "We've got a wide variety of tinned foods, ranging from fruits and vegetables to meats, beans and fish. Everything was hand-picked and balanced out for a completely healthy diet including all food groups. Even got some spicy chili in the mix. Enough to last us for two months, should we stay as long as that."

"We were only planning to stay for two weeks max," Bellatrix frowned.

"It's best to be prepared," said Hermione. "Imagine if the portals close all of a sudden and trap us here for a bit. We'll have plenty of supplies should that happen."

Bellatrix nodded in understanding and picked up one of the tins. "What's this? It says 'Spam'. Never heard of that."

"Oh, of course, she picked up one of those," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Those are only for dire emergencies," she said, snatching the tin out of Bellatrix's hands and replacing it with another filled with more appetising content.

"Hm," said Bellatrix, studying the label. "Pine-apple slices."

"Of course, plenty of teabags," said Hermione, pointing at a big wholesale box of mixed flavours. "Didn't forget those."

"Of course not!" Bellatrix spoke in approval. "Always English!"

"Now, this might be a bit controversial," Hermione said and pulled a 4 burner flat camping gas stove from the bag, along with a few propane tanks. Bellatrix looked on warily as Hermione demonstrated the device. Bellatrix looked on warily and in silence while Hermione hooked up the tank with a hose and startled Bellatrix by making the burner catch flame.

"That's... that's a muggle device!" Bellatrix raised her chin imperiously, looking at it as if it was an infectious leper and kept her distance.

"I'm a muggle-born girl," Hermione reminded Bellatrix after shutting down the burner. "What were you expecting? How were you planning to cook our food?"

"Well..." Bellatrix bit her lip and crossed her arms, offering Hermione somewhat of a glare. "A campfire cooking pot, obviously."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "And have you actually ever cooked something over a campfire?"

"Well... no," Bellatrix pouted slightly.

"Trust me," said Hermione. "If you had, you'd be thanking me right now."

That didn't make Bellatrix any less wary, though she did seem to stand down somewhat. "Alright," Bellatrix said carefully. "I trust you."

From her tone of voice, Hermione surmised that she would be doing the cooking for the duration of their adventure. Still, that suited her more than fine: cooking on campfire was a complete nightmare so avoiding that was a major victory in itself. "Just keep in mind, propane is highly flammable and explosive. If this tank gets punctured or too hot, it'll basically be a bomb."

"Right," Bellatrix took involuntary step back. "How about I show you our home away from them, after you put that propane-thing back in the deepest, darkest part of your backpack."

By the time Hermione had repacked the supplies, Bellatrix stood proudly next to a pitched tent. Outwardly, it looked much like a normal run-of-the-mill canvas camping tent. Of course, when it came to wizarding tents, looks were definitely deceiving. Much larger on the inside, Hermione was quite happy to find a spacious expedition tent with all the comforts of home.

"Right," said Bellatrix. "My sisters and I have spent many a night in this tent. Let me give you the grand tour. First of all, look at that sunroof." Pointing above, Hermione could see that the largest part of the tent's roof was made from transparent canvas, letting the light from the sun pour into the tent. "It's amazing to watch the stars at night."

Bellatrix presented a dining area, which consisted of a table and three chairs and was located in a cozy nook near the back of the tent. Three lazy sofa-chairs were a platform lower around a coffee table and Hermione imagined the three Black sisters hanging around in those chairs chatting about the affairs of the day. More impressive was the office area where the expedition's essentials lay. Bellatrix was committed to document every aspect of their adventure, much like her hero Eleanore Snowbell would have done: there was a rather expensive model camera which, while resembling an old-timer model, had a rather large lens attached to the front. Two pairs of binoculars with equally large lenses lay next to it, along with a series of yet-to-be-filled travel logs and a magical cartography set: the map would draw itself in as they explored their surroundings, saving them both precious time.

Bellatrix had spared no expenses.

"Right," said Bellatrix as she pointed to another section of the tent. "You can put your clothes in the dresser over there and change behind the flap. The toilet is right at the back, right next to the shower. Don't worry, we won't have to use our drinking water: the tent is enchanted to convert rain-water... provided it even rains here. Still, we can always scourgify ourselves."

Which left the sleeping arrangements. The tent's bedroom was in the central part of the tent, right underneath the sunroof. It was a rather cozy looking big mattress, but she was rather startled by what lay on top of it.

A sleeping bag.

A _single_ sleeping bag.

For two.

"Uhm," Hermione gulped. "Is that..."

"A sleeping bag, yes," said Bellatrix. "I suppose this tent fits a bed. Several, I'd wager, but that wouldn't be very rugged and outdoorsy, now would it? We always wanted our camping experience to be authentic."

"Right..." Hermione gulped. "So... where do I sleep, then?"

Bellatrix frowned. "In the sleeping bag."

"So... where you do sleep?"

"Also in the sleeping bag," Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. "Hermie, are you alright? Did you have a poor landing and hit yourself in the head?"

"No! I.. I... So... we're sleeping together then?" Hermione blurted out, instantly regretting her words and blushing profusely. "I... I mean..."

"You'll have to cook me dinner first," Bellatrix winked, a flirty joke which Hermione didn't quite appreciate at the moment. Or did she? God, what a mess. "Still, you don't have to worry about it. It barely fits me and my sisters, but seeing there's only two of us, it'll suit us fine."

At that moment, Hermione's mind was reeling: in a few hours, she'd be... in bed with Bellatrix... spending the night with her... very close... together... Immediately, she chastised her mind for going places she did not want it to go. To think about laying next to Bellatrix. Holding her. Being held by her. Her lips on hers. Her hands on her body, her skin, her cheek, her breasts. She fought to keep her breathing under control.

Bellatrix was her friend. Nothing less. Nothing more. She needed to get those unruly feelings of hers under control.

"Are you alright?" asked Bellatrix. "You seem a bit flustered."

"It's, uhm... I'm just still wearing my winter coat and it's far too hot for that," lied Hermione while unbuttoning her coat.

"Sure," said Bellatrix. "You can put it in the wardrobe I showed you."

Seizing the opportunity to flee this bit of the tent and put a bit of distance between her and Bellatrix to hide her deep shame. A few weeks back, she had felt similar shame when she had pleasured herself while thinking of Bellatrix... since that first time, however, it had become a nightly re-occurring flight into fantasy.

And, by Merlin, Hermione found herself hunkering for the real thing a lot more than she'd care to admit to.

* * *

The first hurdle to be overtaken during their grand adventure was actually getting down from Black Plateau into the plains below. But Bellatrix wouldn't let a six meter drop dampen her spirits. It is the very reason why she had brought plenty of magical rope. When she dropped the end of the rope, it automatically bound itself to the nearest structurally sound object that would hold her weight, in this case a large boulder, while she attached the other end of the rope to her pack. She then carefully lowered her down the side of the drop-off. After she landed on both feet, she looked up to see Hermione looking up at her warily.

"Come on down, it's perfectly safe," Bellatrix called up, and adjusted her travel pack.

"If you're sure," Hermione replied, biting the inside of her cheek. Breaking both her legs on the first day of the expedition would make for a poor end.

Bellatrix put her hands on her hips. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you've never used a magical rope before."

"Of course I have!' Hermione replied, more than a bit too quickly. "Many times before!"

"Uh-huh," Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. "Just attach it to your belt and let the rope do the work."

And so Bellatrix became witness to the epic struggle of Hermione trying to descend a cliff-side despite being aided by a magical rope which _should_ make such an effort impossible to fail.

Yet Hermione managed to achieve the impossible, first by somehow managing to descend upside down while flailing all her limbs and then by unceremoniously plummeting down with a yelp when she had only two meters left to go. She landed on her back with grunt and, due to the size of her backpack, was unable to get up on her own. With a smirk, Bellatrix stood over her and extended her hand. "I see you've used magical ropes _many_ times before," she giggled while Hermione narrowed her eyes before taking her hand.

"Oh, do shut up," Hermione replied while patting herself down a bit. Bellatrix gave the rope a few shakes, causing it to release itself, coil up and attach itself to her belt.

"Good thing you weren't holding the camera, though," said Bellatrix as she took the camera which hung from her neck and took a few snaps of the grasslands.

"So what's our strategy?" asked Hermione. "And I can't believe I didn't ask that before we actually went down that cliff."

"Well," said Bellatrix. "Eleanore Snowbell always has a base-camp when she starts out and as she explores the surrounding area she sets up forward camps along the route. But with only two people in the Black-Granger expedition, that doesn't make much sense, now does it? So I'm thinking of doing the opposite: we fully explore the surrounding area and look for suitable sites for camps. Then, when we're doing exploring one area and have decided where to head next, we move our entire base-camp forward."

"How do we find our way back?" Hermione asked.

"With these!" Bellatrix said, producing what looked to be a conch-shell on a stick. "Magical beacons. They're linked to our map and always show up. We can always find our way home using these."

She planted one of the beacons in the ground and it started glowing for a bit. Hermione did check her map and was seemingly pleased to see a red dot appear on it. Oh, Bellatrix certainly liked Hermione well enough, but for a Gryffindor, Hermione certainly was being overly cautious.

"How about we explore the grasslands first?" Hermione suggested. "Everything is in plain view and there's a few landmarks already. Should fill out our map quite nicely."

In front of them stretched the grasslands, a mostly flat area of land with some copses of trees dotted around them, reminiscent of a mix between the rolling hills of the midlands and the savannas of Africa. In the distance, they could see a thick forest before a mountain range much further back. Indeed, it would be a good place to start.

Bellatrix wrapped an arm around Hermione's shoulder and found the other girl stiffening under her touch. "Exciting, isn't it?!" Bellatrix raved, and she was excited. Exploring this strange new world was, perhaps, the biggest adventure of her life and she was sharing with her best and only friend she had ever had... who was from another time-line entirely. Nothing about this situation was in any way regular or normal, and the curly-haired witch loved every moment of it.

"Yeah," Hermione almost whispered. When Bellatrix was about to withdraw her arm, Hermione quickly grabbed her wrist, leaving her arm draped around Hermione's shoulders. Hermione's other arm wound its way around her waist. Ah, a moment of shared celebration.

"I named the plateau," said Bellatrix. "So it's only fair you get to name the grasslands."

Hermione turned her head towards her, her expression one of reserved joy. Bellatrix watched as Hermione let her eyes rove over the rolling plains. "Tranquillity," she finally spoke.

"Tranquillity," smiled Bellatrix, taking in the atmosphere. "Fitting. Shall we go?"

"Wait, before we go," Hermione put her hands on her head. "Trix... that hat. Honestly, that hat..."

"What?" Bellatrix instinctively raised her hands to the pith helmet. "What's wrong with it?"

"You honestly have no idea just how silly you look?" Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"But... Eleanore Snowbell always wears these," Bellatrix could hear the pout in her own voice.

Hermione shook her head. "In the _twenties_ , Trix. She always wore those in the _twenties_."

Bellatrix was someone who never cared about what others thought of her: she knew she was more powerful, more clever and more capable than everyone who talked behind her back or even to her face: such things were born out of jealousy more often that not, and Bellatrix was far superior to all of them. But... Hermione? That was someone she trusted. Someone she cared for. And sure, they had had plenty of banter before, but this felt different.

Was this really happening? Was Hermione... _making fun_ of her? And her childhood hero to boot?

It surprised her just how much it stung. Just how embarrassing it was. A twinge of anger welled up in the pit of her stomach.

Apparently, all that showed in her expression as Hermione's mocking grin softened into a gentle smile. "Here," she said, snatching the pith helmet from her head before she had a chance to respond.

"Hey!" Bellatrix protested, but Hermione quickly stepped out of reach, yanked her own hat off and put the pith helmet on her own head.

"This is how silly you look," said Hermione, doing a brief curtsy bow with the pith helmet on her head. Bellatrix couldn't help but giggle at the oversized white hat above the brown tresses of Hermione's long mane.

Giggles turned into laughter. "Merlin," Bellatrix snorted. "You look like you have a tit on your head!"

Hermione stepped forward and put the beanie-hat on Bellatrix's head and adjusted it for good measure, pulling the visor down to shield her eyes. "There," said Hermione. "I'm fine with wearing the silly hat for now."

And so started their grand adventure, wandering away from the plateau and finally starting to explore this strange new land with its bright colours, clear sky and floating islands above.

After an hour of walking, they came across a shallow lake about forty feet in diameter and, judging from the many footprints, it saw a lot of traffic from the local fauna. More striking, however, was a large field of red poppy-like flowers north of the lake. The colour red was almost painfully bright, much like all other colours in this strange realm. Hermione took an interest in the flowers, as Bellatrix knew she would: her friend had a keen interest in herbology, after all.

"Look! Wildlife!" Bellatrix proclaimed as from over the hill approached a small herd of creatures. She counted fifteen of them while they calmly approached the lake for a bit of a drink. The creatures were decidedly odd: from a distance they resembled horses, but on their long snout they had short rounded beaks. They had strong, muscular shoulders and long front legs, but their back haunches and hips were decidedly smaller and shorter. One of them, the largest, sported a large set of horns while the rest had none. There were five more adults and the rest were calves. Bellatrix and Hermione watched them come surprisingly close when they sifted their beaks through the water or grazed a little near the water's edge.

"They're not afraid of us," said Bellatrix.

"Why would they be, Trix?" Hermione replied. "They've never seen humans before."

Bellatrix took her camera and got in a good position to snap a few pictures. "We need to give them a name too."

"Hm, whose turn is it?" Hermione muttered. "Let's see, you named our entry point, I named the grasslands, you named mountain range in the distance, I named the lake... your turn."

"Hm," Bellatrix put a finger to her lips. "That's a tough one. Beak-horse... Borse? No, that sounds wrong. Hippoduck? They do look like someone took parts of a duck, a horse and a gorilla and smashed it all together. Dipporilla?"

"Well, you think about it some more," said Hermione. "I'm going to take some samples of those flowers over there. I suppose I get to name those."

After Hermione left to fetch her samples, Bellatrix hunched to her knees to get a few more pictures and watched the creatures enjoy their drink- and bath time. They really didn't seem to mind her at all, though she did keep an eye out for the horned one. Curiously, though, it seemed like they weren't interested in the flower field to the north. The creatures were undoubtedly plant-eaters and those flowers seemed like an easy meal... so why weren't they going for it?

Her train of thought were interrupted when one of the calves turned out to be a bit more curious than the others and sauntered over to her. At first it seemed a bit wary, but when Bellatrix plucked out some long stems of grass and held it out for it to eat, the small creature came so close she could touch it.

"Hello there. Do you like to be named a 'borse'?" Bellatrix greeted as the tiny creature started eating out of her hand. She gently patted and rubbed the creature's head and it let out a purring bray in appreciation. So far, the rest of the herd didn't seem to mind. What did puzzle Bellatrix, however, was that the horned one was chasing away one of the calves from near the field of flowers.

"Hey, Hermie!" Bellatrix called out. "Come pet this little one!"

No answer.

"Hermie?" Bellatrix called out again.

Silence.

"Hermie?!"

Now concerned, Bellatrix rose to her feet and scanned her surroundings, letting out gasp of breath when she saw Hermione lying prone on her stomach, having fallen into the field of flowers. Immediately, the curly-haired which sprinted towards her. "Hermie!" she shouted. "What's wrong?!"

When she got nearer, she skidded to a halt when still a few meters away from Hermione. From her vantage point, she could see there were sun-bleached piles of bones lying among the flowers. Duck-billed piles of bones. Above the flowers itself was a fine haze of white dust in the air: spores, she realized. Well... that explained why the borses didn't want to be anywhere near this field.

"Heeeeelllpppp," sounded the tired and drawn-out voice of Hermione, as if it had taken every bit of effort left in her body to actually speak that single word.

"I'm coming, Hermie!" Bellatrix yelled back, but knew that she'd be doomed to end up on the ground right next to Hermione if she wasn't careful. Shit, shit, what to do?! Shit!

An idea came to her. After drawing her wand, she quickly applied the bubblehead charm to her face and rushed in to help her friend. She had to be quick: go in, grab Hermione and drag her out as quickly as she could muster. The moment she entered the field, she could feel the spores stinging her skin and her eyes, causing her to hiss in pain. Though the bubble-head charm did help, it only delayed the effect of the spores. She already felt her arms grow heavy and her mind started to fog up with fatigue. Still, she grit her teeth in grim determination, grabbed Hermione by the belt and started dragging her out of the field of flowers.

Dead weight was a good way to describe Hermione right now: she was completely incapable of moving on her own and Bellatrix wasn't as strong as she had wanted to be in this situation. Dragging Hermione and her pack out of the field took much longer than she would have liked. After making sure her friend's body was completely out of the field and rolling her towards the lake, Bellatrix staggered over to the water to dip her face into the lake to get the spores off her exposed skin. Almost immediately, she felt much better.

Clutching Hermione to her chest, she splashed water in her friend's face and put her canteen against her lips. That should get the spores out of her mouth. Hermione's breathing started to get even again and it didn't take long for her eyes to flutter open. "Feeling better?" Bellatrix asked.

"Hm, thanks, Trix," Hermione took a few deep breaths. "I... I don't think I can move just yet."

Bellatrix sighed in relief. "That was close. I guess this realm is more dangerous than we first thought."

"Have to be... more careful..." Hermione struggled to speak. "... didn't... pay... attention... Saw the bones... too late."

"Rest a bit," Bellatrix said while still holding on to her.

For her part, Hermione nestled her head against her chest while being held. "I... I like... where I am... right now..."

Bellatrix frowned. She wondered if Hermione might still be a bit delirious.


	19. Buzzing

With a groan, Hermione's eyes fluttered open. After a moment of disorientation, she realized she found herself in the sleeping bag in their tent, staring at the sun pouring in through the canvas skylight.

Curious. She didn't remember returning to the base-camp. Nor being put to bed. The last thing she remembered was... lying in Bellatrix's arms as she clutched her tightly and pressed her head against her chest. Almost instinctively, Hermione closed her eyes and felt a smile creep over her face. That had been so nice. So very nice indeed. It was almost worth being poisoned by flowers and dying to an endless sleep.

She had slept in her clothes, obviously, though they seemed scourgified and Bellatrix had removed her boots before putting her to bed. Hermione did feel very much rested and fully recovered from the many blood rites she and Trix had performed the days before. She stretched and got up. Bellatrix herself was nowhere in sight, so Hermione quickly made the sleeping bag and sauntered into the bathroom area to splash some water in her face.

Once she left the tent, she found that the location had changed. Their base-camp was now located somewhat near the lake, but thankfully far away from the field of red flowers which had almost done her in the previous day. The beaked creatures were still there, leisurely sifting through the water with their beaks. It was a sunny day again, warm and welcoming, though the lack of actual day-star in the sky was still a little disconcerting.

"Ah, good morning, sleepy-head!" greeted Bellatrix. Her friend was sat on a fallen look while looking rather out of her depth. She had apparently unpacked the camping stove and a tank of propane to put a kettle on for morning tea. Unfortunately, she didn't quite know how to work it, but had managed to fasten and connect the tank properly, at least. Next to her stood one of the five-litre square water bottles and she had apparently decided to drink some water instead.

"Morning, Trix," Hermione yawned. "How long have I slept?"

"Almost fifteen hours," smiled Bellatrix.

"Explains why I feel very relaxed and energetic. How about I fix us some breakfast, hm?"

"Good," said Bellatrix. "I'm witch enough to admit that I can't for the life of me figure out how this muggle contraption works."

Which was probably a good thing, though Hermione didn't say that out loud. Hermione started to turn on the camping stove, when she realized something was off with the tank. "Trix?" she asked. "What happened to the safety lock on this tank?"

"Oh, the red thing?" Trix called over from her perch. "I couldn't get it to disengage, so I knocked it off with a rock."

Hermione blinked. "You… you… knocked it off…"

"With a rock!" Bellatrix added cheerfully.

Right. Hermione couldn't smell any gas, but decided not to take any chances. She put the small tank away in one of her sidepouches for disposal later and went to fetch another propane tank from her pack just to be on the safe side. The camping stove was operational a few minutes later. After putting the kettle on for tea, she decided that since she hadn't eaten the previous evening, it was time for a hearty and filling full English fry-up breakfast. Baked beans, bacon, sausages, mushrooms and tomato, all from tins. While eating rather ravenously, both girls did have a bit of a conversation between bites.

"Hm," said Hermione before taking a bite of bacon. "So explain to me how the tent got here."

"Oh," said Bellatrix, taking a bite from a sausage. "I went back to fetch it."

"You... left me here while I was sleeping?" Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Bellatrix pouted. "I charmed you with a shield and covered you with an illusion. Besides, I sprinted for the most part and was back in little over an hour. I think it's for the best if we change our plan and bring out base-camp along instead of leaving it behind in case, you know, something like this happens again."

"Maybe you're right," shrugged Hermione. "Wait... you put me to bed?"

"I figured you earned a rest," said Bellatrix. "Oh, this realm definitely has a day-night cycle. You should see the sky at night. It's beyond gorgeous. There's a great view from the sleeping bag through the sky-light, but you slept through it all."

Hermione felt her heart skip a beat: she and Bellatrix had shared a bed last night and she had slept through it all. "Hm, sorry I missed it," said Hermione, muttering wryly.

"You'll get another chance soon enough," smiled Bellatrix.

"I'd better," Hermione spoke before she caught herself and quickly focused to devouring a particularly hearty bit of mushroom. "So, what _did_ you eat last night?"

"Oh, this," said Bellatrix and held up an empty tin of spam. Hermione blinked. Somehow, the mental image of someone whom was basically a wizarding aristocrat used to eating delicacies from golden plates eating raw spam from a tin with a plastic spoon was deeply comical. "I don't know why you're so negative about it. It was really nice."

Truth be told, Bellatrix never ceased to amaze her.

* * *

After a hearty breakfast, the two witches broke camp and, after saying their goodbyes to the grazing borses, decided to follow the stream feeding the lake further north. The stream ran parallel to the forest and led further into the grasslands, which give them more of an opportunity to explore. There were also more fields of the red flowers, much larger than had been at the lake. The two girls wisely decided to give those a wide berth, but it limited their options somewhat.

After losing some time by walking around a particularly large, seemingly endless field of large flowers, they found the stream again and followed it further north.

Every so often, Bellatrix would put down another magic conch on a stick to serve as a beacon. All in all, there was a nice path to follow back to the exit of this Realm should they need it. They came to a location near the stream where the plant-life was noticeably larger. The flowers they encountered looked like run-of-the-mill dandelions, though they stood as tall as sunflowers, with stems as thick as mooring ropes and flowers the size of a serving table.

"Nice bit of shade," said Bellatrix, taking a sip from her canteen while sitting down. "Bit of a break?" she asked while handing the canteen over to Hermione. Hermione took a sip and agreed: the non-existent sun was bearing down on them and the weather was rather stiflingly hot midday. A bit of a rest would do her wonders. She sat down and leaned against one of the giant dandelions, wiping the sweat from her brow.

"I suggest we go to that forest tomorrow," said Bellatrix. "The canopy should give us some cover."

"Hm, sounds heavenly," replied Hermione.

Hermione closed her eyes: she was used to hiking, certainly, but this was a distinctively un-British climate. Bellatrix didn't seem to be comping much better, though she seemed to be driven by pure enthusiasm. Funny thing, really: she had never expected to be exploring a strange new alien magical land with the younger version of an insane dark witch. Such wonders the universe could hold.

Though, she supposed thinking of Trix as insane wasn't fair. Bellatrix Black wasn't Bellatrix Lestrange and should not be judged so unfairly.

She suddenly felt a weight on her head. That was odd. Did something just drop on her? Still, though the weight was there, it hadn't heard it and it wasn't falling off either.

"Uhm, Hermie..." Bellatrix started to say while Hermione looked up to see two antennae poke over the brim of her pith helmet... along with a pair of mandibles. It didn't take long for her to put two and two together, especially after she recognized the shape.

"Trix..." she hissed through clenched teeth, trying to remain as still as possible. "There's a giant wasp on my head!"

"I see it..." Bellatrix replied with a hushed whisper.

The giant wasp turned around slightly, giving Hermione a full view of its abdomen and, more disturbingly, the stinger at the end of it. A stinger the size of a butterfly knife, even while still mostly sheathed. Her body betrayed her by way of involuntary shudder. Thankfully, the wasp didn't seem to be agitated by it.

"Hold on," Bellatrix sounded, followed by the tell-tale sound of a camera snapping.

"What?!" Hermione blinked. "There's a wasp the size of a large house cat sat on my head and the first thing you do is to snap a picture of it?!"

"Well, what do you expect me to do about it?" Bellatrix shrugged.

"Get rid of it, of course!" Hermione hissed. "Just... avada kedavra it!"

Bellatrix blinked in response. "That's... a bit excessive."

"Excessive?!" Hermione balked. "You're not the one with a giant wasp sat on your head!"

The wasp was shifting again now, turning around on top of her head as if it was a turret. Meanwhile, Bellatrix drew her wand and sort of aimed it at the wasp. "Alright," said Bellatrix. "Let's see if I can lure it away with a bit of light."

Before Bellatrix could say anything else, there was a loud crack and, to Hermione's relief, the wasp was gone. The relief didn't last long, however, as the wasp was now sat on Bellatrix' head instead. So... a giant _teleporting_ magical wasp the size of a house cat. This was just getting better and better. Bellatrix, for her part, seemed frozen but more curious than afraid.

For the first time, she got a good look at the wasp. It was indeed the size of a particularly large cat, but much resembled the yellow-jackets from home, though its adornments were more of an orange-yellow. A big set of compound eyes were on either side of a head which also sported a small set of mandables. So far, the wasp was yet to make an aggressive move, but with a stinger that size it wasn't worth the risk.

"You were saying?" Hermione hadn't meant to sound quite as smug as she did, but felt it was a deserved payback. She took out her own wand and aimed it at the insect.

"What are you doing?!" Bellatrix said without moving a muscle.

"Hold still..."

"Have you ever even _cast_ the killing curse before?!" Bellatrix hissed. "You don't strike me as a particularly dark witch, Hermie."

"Well... no..." Hermione replied.

Bellatrix bristled. "Then don't! You'll either fail completely, fry your wand core, accidentally hit me with it, or _all_ of the above! No killing curses if you have no experience with it! I have a better idea. Hermie, open the bag with the provisions and fetch a chocolate bar."

Hermione did so, holding it out. Bellatrix made a bit of a motion with her fingers and the chocolate bar levitated towards her. Once she had it, she gently and awkwardly undid the wrapper with one hand. Slowly, but surely, she brought it up towards her head. The wasp, now having picked up on the sugar content in the air through its merrily twitching antennae, seemed supremely interested and shifted towards it. It reached out and carefully took a bite out of the chocolate bar with its mandibles. The taste was apparently enjoyed quite much, which was what Bellatrix had been hoping for. She held the bar away from her and the wasp took off, wings buzzing. It hovered around the chocolate bar and quickly gobbled up the rest of it. After the bar was consumed, it hovered in between the two girls.

"See?" Bellatrix smiled. "He's just hungry."

"Trix!" Hermione hissed as she watched her friend reach out again. "What are you doing?"

By now, Bellatrix was patting the flying wasp on the head, gently rubbing the chitin between its eyes. "See?" Bellatrix said. "He's friendly."

Hermione mood turned towards exasperation. "Trix! It's a _wasp_! They lay eggs in still-living paralysed creatures! They eat caterpillars! Have you seen the size of the stinger on that thing?!"

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. "Don't be so bigoted, Hermie. It's unbecoming."

Hermione blinked. Once. Twice. "Bigoted?! Me?! _You_ are calling _me_ a bigot?!" Hermione retorted, causing Bellatrix to cross her arms.

"Yes, I do, in fact," Bellatrix countered, eyes narrowed. "This creature has done nothing to us and all you've wanted to do is kill it. It hasn't attacked us. It hasn't stung us. It's hasn't made a single aggressive move. Why does it deserve to die?"

"What's next? You telling me I'm racist against wasps?!" Hermione muttered back. "It's a _wasp_. They are aggressive pests!"

Bellatrix' expression never changed. "It's a witch. They are irredeemably evil. They deserve to be burned at the stake."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Hermione asked, already knowing the answer to it.

"It's a mudblood," said Bellatrix. "They are wicked and untrustworthy thieves. They don't deserve to wield magic. There was a time when I held that as an unshakable truth. Hermie, you taught me to open my mind. Before I met you, I never would have willingly associated with a muggle-born."

Hermione shook her head. "Are you comparing me to a wasp?"

"That's not the point," said Bellatrix. "And you know it."

Hermione closed her eyes, now well and duly chastised. After a few deep breaths, she spoke softly. "An oak and a reed were arguing about their strength. When a strong wind came up, the reed avoided being uprooted by bending and leaning with the gusts of wind. But the oak stood firm and was torn up by the roots."

Bellatrix frowned. "What does that mean?"

"Aesop," replied Hermione after slinging her backpack to her back. "Something I'll do some catching up with once our expedition is over. Seems I can still learn from it."

"Enough of a break?" smiled Bellatrix. "We still have some ground to cover."

"Yeah," said Hermione, watching as the wasp hovered around the dandelions while the two girls went along their way.

* * *

Thankfully, the rest of the day was rather uneventful. There were no more fields of poisonous flowers, giant wasps or anything else unsavoury. The witches spent most of their time chatting as they traversed the grasslands, cataloguing and naming several more types of, thankfully benign, flowers and observing another flying creature in the distance with binoculars. Bellatrix added plenty of more photographs to her collection and by the time the light of the sun started to dim, it was time for the girls to set up camp. Tomorrow, they would explore the nearby forest.

They had dinner by the campfire. Not that a campfire was needed, but now that the non-existent sun was apparently setting, it was just a pleasant addition to their camp. And then, finally, came the moment Hermione had been dreading: her first conscious night in this realm... and spending it sharing a sleeping bag with Bellatrix. After dousing the fire, Bellatrix cleaned up the campsite and went inside. With a lump in her throat, she made her way inside only to find Bella already in the sleeping bag, looking up at the sky through the canvas skylight. Hermione washed up at the sink and exchanged her clothes for a set of pink pyjamas. Girly, she knew, but it was comfortable and she made no apologies for it.

When she emerged from the dressing area, she rushed towards the sleeping bag, only to dive into it and lay on her back, stiff as a board. Even so, she could feel Bellatrix's closeness as she lay next to her, staring up at the sky.

"How amazing is that?" said Bellatrix, referring to the light about. Stars... or whatever they were supposed to be, shone brightly in the deep purple night sky. Though it all, ribbons of green light shone among wispy strands. "Aurora Borealis in this alien world," smile Bellatrix, eyes fixed above. "Beautiful."

Hermione's gaze was not on the sky, but on the girl next to her. She couldn't help but smile when gazing upon her countenance, an expression of childlike innocence upon in. "Indeed. Beautiful," whispered Hermione.

Why was she doing this? Telling herself that it was to help herself by helping Bellatrix, but undeniable truth: she had feelings for Bellatrix. Romantic feelings. Hermione was open-minded enough not to be shocked by being romantically attracted to a girl.

In love.

' _Say it for what it is, Hermione.'_

She was in love with Trix.

Perhaps she had been ever since Bellatrix mentioned she had dallied with girls in the past. Perhaps learning that little fact got the ball rolling. Part of her yearned to confess her feelings for her, but... she wasn't sure how Bellatrix would react. Certainly, she seemed to be more accepting for muggle-borns now, but friendship and romantic relationships were two very different things. Worse yet, it might impede her attempts to save Bellatrix from becoming her future self.

So for now she would keep her feelings to herself and gazed upon the sky. A day of walking had tired her out enough to quickly slip into mires of sleep. Unfortunately, sleep decided not to be kind of Hermione.

_Hermione was once again on the cold floor of Malfoy Manor, a heavy weight shifting on top of her. Bellatrix Lestrange, her face twisted in a frightening mask of abject rage, lowered her head to scream in her ear. "FILTH! LIAR!" she shrieked, causing Hermione to attempt to shy away from her. Apparently, Bellatrix found this amusing, and made a point of it grab a fist-full of hair and slam the side of her head into the hard tiles._

_Pain exploded through her skull, the sudden move leaving her more than a little dazed. Hermione cowered underneath the wicked woman's terrifying form. "Tell me... TELL ME! WHEN DID YOU TAKE IT?! WHEN WERE YOU IN MY VAULT?!"_

" _I never was!" Hermione felt tears run over her cheeks. "Please... please, I didn't take anything."_

_Hermione screamed as the woman literally bent down to take a bite onto the nape of her neck. "Please... please... don't hurt me anymore," Hermione cried._

_Apparently, the begging amused Bellatrix enough to let out a fierce cackle. "Oh, it'll end. But not before I get my answers. And not before you scream so hard your vocal chords will tear. Filthy, filthy little mudgirl. You think you can walk among your betters, strut around thinking you are our EQUAL?!"_

" _Please... I haven't done anything to you!" Hermione trembled when the cold blade of a knife was dragged over the soft skin of her cheek._

" _Hm," Bellatrix chuckled. "I wonder how many bits I can cut off your body before you'll faint. I'm guessing four. Shall we find out together, hm?"_

_Hermione had never felt so terrified. So helpless. This wasn't something she could reason herself out of. This wasn't a problem she could solve with her smarts. This woman was relentless and merciless._

" _Oh!" Bellatrix giggled like a little schoolgirl. "I have such a lovely idea!"_

_Hermione felt Bellatrix roll up her sleeve and once the tip of the blade carved through her flesh, she could do nothing else but to close her eyes and scream through the blinding pain._

"Hermione?" sounded in the darkness. "Hermione!"

The voice of Bellatrix Lestrange and faded into that of the younger Bellatrix Black. Malice giving way for concern and worry. Hermione's eyes shot open and found herself drenched in sweat while staring up at the alien sky through the canvas skylight above, intensely colourful even at night. She was... not in Malfoy Manor: she was in pyjamas in the big sleeping bag she shared with... with...

Bellatrix's much younger face hovered over her, her expression in stark contrast to that of her older self Full dark curls fell down the side of her head. The girl, also clad in her own sleepwear, gently lay her hands on Hermione's cheeks. "You were having a nightmare," said Bellatrix. "You were screaming."

Hermione fought to keep her breathing under control, panting as she tried to push the nightmare far into the back of her mind. "Trix..." Hermione muttered. "I... I'm sorry I woke you, I... Just a dream. It's nothing."

"Didn't sound like it was nothing," Bellatrix pursed her lips. "You were screaming for someone to stop hurting you."

Hermione sighed. "You're right," she replied softly, sitting up while Bellatrix starting running a hand through her brown hair. "It wasn't 'nothing', I... that person can't hurt me anymore. Ever."

"Good," replied Bellatrix, her expression one of determination. "Because if anyone or anything even thinks about hurting you, they're going to have to get through me first!"

Hermione regarded the seventeen-year old Bellatrix. Though the girl whom had become one of her closest friends had her moments of fool-hardy bravado, this was not one of it. From her expression, Hermione was certain that she had meant every single word.

"Trix," Hermione smiled warmly and gently flowed into the other girl's arms, embracing her tightly. The embrace was soon returned, with Bellatrix parking her chin on her shoulder and snaking her arms around her back.

At that very moment, Hermione felt more safe than she had ever felt before. She trusted Trix as much as she hated the woman she could potentially become. She felt ever more determined to try to prevent that from ever happening.

"I'll save you," Hermione whispered softly.

"What?" Trix frowned and let go of Hermione to look her in the eye. "That doesn't make any sense at all. I thought _I_ was comforting _you_."

"I was just saying," Hermione replied. "That I'd do the same for you."

Bellatrix smiled briefly. "Well. I don't feel like sleeping much at the moment. How about we just watch the stars for a bit. Or, well, whatever passes for stars in this strange realm."

"Lets."

* * *

After some moments of chatting and watching the stars together, Hermione had calmed down enough to try to catch more winks. Only to wake up again in a tent barely illuminated by starlight above. By now, Hermione had gotten over her initial fear and embarrassment over sharing a sleeping bag with Bellatrix, especially after what had happened earlier in the night. Apparently, it was around two-thirty in the morning... according to her watch at least. This Fae Realm did have a tendency to mess with her sense of time, after all. Still, this was the time she usually got up to make her trek into the Forbidden Forest to talk to Trix for the past few months, so it was no surprise her body was still used to that pattern.

More to the point, Bellatrix still lay sleeping next to her, on her side and head smushed against the pillow. She looked so... peaceful. So innocent.

Hermione supposed that everyone had the potential to become a monster under the right circumstances, but if there was one thing she had learned, was that monsters were once perfectly normal, well-adjusted people.

Well... in case of Trix, _mostly_ normal and _mostly_ well-adjusted, when looking at her from a certain angle.

And right now, Hermione was definitely looking at Bellatrix from a certain angle. She was sleeping, right? What was the harm? And, well, it was Bellatrix whom had suggested the two of them would share a sleeping bag. It'd be hard _not_ to look, wouldn't it? And look she did.

Carefully and quietly, Hermione lifted the top of the sleeping bag ever so slightly, letting enough light in to sneak a peak. Unlike her own pyjamas, Trix had decided to sleep in a top and shorts, giving Hermione an excellent glimpse of her toned legs: the legs of a Quidditch chaser. Hermione swallowed hard as her eyes followed every curve. Bellatrix was a combination of brains and brawn. Funny really, earlier this night she had been too upset to notice, but now? Bellatrix was given all of Hermione's undivided and lustful attention.

Seriously, Trix really was good at everything she did... well, except for social situations, Hermione supposed.

Eyes roved further to her belly and her abs. And her chest. Oh dear god and what a chest it was. Rising and falling slowly with every rhythmic breath. Hermione felt her own breath quickening, her cheeks reddening and her body tingling. Trix' breasts were a tad bigger than her own, which caused her a slight pang of jealousy.

And then, finally, her face. Her strong jawline, her curly mane and her intense countenance. God, even while sleeping, young Bellatrix had such an unbelievably strong presence. It was no wonder that Voldemort had wanted to recruit her for the Death Eaters and considered her such a valuable asset.

Well, not if Hermione could help it. Trix was her friend. And Hermione was going to make damn such that Voldemort wouldn't get his claws inside her head.

No, Hermione wanted Bellatrix all to herself. _All_ of Trix. _All_ to herself. Every bit of her.

Immediately, Hermione paused. That was on odd thought to have. Where did that come from? Still, she had to admit the attraction was undeniable at this point. All those feelings soaring through her she had yet to make sense of.

She dared a touch. Gently, slowly and methodically, Hermione slowly raised her arm and reached towards Trix. Slowly, ever so slowly, her fingers reached for curly dark hair. And with the tips of her fingers kissed silky softness, she gently started stroking back and forth.

God, so soft.

The tips of her fingers buried ever deeply into a silky soft ocean of curls.

"Hmmm," sounded from Bellatrix, a smile spreading on her face while her eyes were still closed. Her friend shifted a little closer to her. Then, all of a sudden, Hermione gasped when her friend's eyes fluttered open and Hermione literally felt like she had been caught with her hand in the till. Even for a sleep drunk Bellatrix, it was hard to miss that Hermione had her hand in her curly hair.

Thankfully, Bellatrix wasn't angry or repulsed, but merely smiled.

"Sorry, I..." A blushing Hermione started to say, but Bellatrix chuckled.

"It's alright," Bellatrix replied softly, but shifted a little closer to her, startling Hermione when she raised her own hand.

"Quid pro quo. It's only fair," Bellatrix smirked when she noticed Hermione's discomfort and reached out her hand, far less slowly and carefully than Hermione had. A shudder went through Hermione when she felt fingertips sliding through her hair. Back and forth, back and forth. Once again, Hermione's breath quickened, especially when Trix's smirk transformed into a soft smile.

Her hand stopped her stroking motion, only to rest her palm on Hermione's cheek and gently rubbed the skin with her thumb. Again, Hermione blushed profusely as wicked thoughts once again made her way through her lust-fogged brain. Bellatrix shifted a little closer to her. Was she... Was she going to?

For a moment, Bellatrix looked very unsure of herself. Dark eyes spread wide open. Searching. Questioning. Doubting.

Then, determination. A slight smirk. A slight tilt of her head. A slight but sure shift towards her.

God.

Was she… going to kiss her?! Sweet merciful god, Trix was actually going to kiss her!

Hermione whimpered slightly, closing her eyes and preparing herself mentally for something she had only dared to dream been about for weeks.

But instead of Bellatrix' soft lips on hers, there was... the sound of buzzing and a slight weight dropping on her side. When she opened her eyes, she was confronted with the sight of a giant wasp walking over their sleeping bag.

"AH!" Hermione exclaimed and shifted away from Bellatrix, all sense of romance now completely ebbed away.

"Oh!" sounded Bellatrix, a bit more cheerful. "Our friend's back!"

The romantic moment now well and truly lost, Hermione rolled her eyes, curling up her body while the curious wasp was seemingly exploring the outside of their sleeping bag. "Wonderful," she sighed with a sarcastic edge on her tone of voice. "Did he teleport inside?"

"No," said Bellatrix. "The canvas is enchanted with an anti-apparition charm. Standard security, really. Hm..."

Bellatrix pointed towards the doorflap and, following her gaze, Hermione could notice that the bottom half of the doorflap was parted. "Hah," laughed Bellatrix. "He must have figured out how to work the zipper. You're very clever, aren't you?"

Hermione didn't know what was more disturbing... the fact that a giant wasp had managed to zip open the tent to crawl inside or that Bellatrix was cooing over a giant wasp while it was merrily play-biting at Trix' wrist with his mandibles.

No, scratch that. The most disturbing thought what that she could have been snogging Bellatrix right now if it hadn't been for that goddamn wasp interrupting them!


End file.
